


Brave

by PhoenixTalon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Romance, peasant Rum fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/pseuds/PhoenixTalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unlikely rescue, Baelfire brings Belle home to a hesitant and less than obliging Rumplestiltskin, who is certain Belle will lead them into nothing but trouble. AU fic, possible smut later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

AN: For acciofirewhiskey’s prompts ‘windmills pepper the land’ and ‘by the by’. Probably be around 5-7 chapters.   
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Baelfire was seven years old when he first realized he was poor.

It wasn’t as though he’d thought he came from a wealthy family. He’d always been aware that there were other families with nicer clothes and more toys. But the realization that his family was on the lower skirts of poverty had not been a pleasant one. 

Their dinner that night had been meager. A few crusts of bread and an unhappily small bowl of porridge had barely settled Baelfire’s stomach. But he’d eaten all of it and then looked at his father with surprise.

“Why aren’t you eating, papa?” He’d asked.

His father had brushed away his question with an aside. “I ate earlier, son.” But Baelfire knew this was a lie. It had been a long day. His father had spun and spun but at the midday break, all they’d had was weak tea. At first, Baelfire couldn’t understand why his father wasn’t eating. But that night, tossing and turning in his bed, he realized the truth. There hadn’t been enough food for two.

Baelfire felt he grew up that day. He’d always been a little more mature, a little worldlier than his peers, but now he was more determined than ever to be so. He stopped complaining about the never ceasing workdays, the lack of money for toys and clothes, his father always being too tired to play. Baelfire became determined to do whatever he could to lighten the burden upon his father. 

On the morning of his eleventh birthday, Baelfire woke early. It was a clear September day and Baelfire smiled, pleased that the sun was shining. He pulled on a clean tunic and breeches and walked toward the sound of his father’s spinning wheel. 

Rumplestiltskin glanced up from his work. “Morning, Bae,” He greeted him tiredly. “Happy birthday, son.”

“Thanks, papa,” Baelfire replied, taking a seat next to him. He took a clump of wool at his father’s feet and began to clean it. 

Rumplestiltskin stopped him. “No, no, son,” He gently pulled the wool out of Baelfire’s hands. “Not today. Go out and play.”

“But papa,” Balefire protested. “I don’t need to play. I want to help you.”

“Oh, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin smiled sadly. “I don’t have money for presents or sweets or anything to give you today. And I’m sorry for that. But spend the day playing with your friends. One day won’t make a difference.” 

Baelfire wanted to argue but Rumplestiltskin looked simply too disappointed and guilty. If there was one thing Baelfire couldn’t stand, it was the sight of his father loathing himself. So he picked up his cloak, hugged his father, and exited their little hut, blinking in the sunlight. 

Rumplestiltskin and his son lived on the outskirts of the village, near the edge of the forest. Their house was small, barely two rooms, with a tattered, patched roof that leaked during the rainy season. North of their hut were fields of sheep, windmills peppering the land. 

Baelfire could never say that his life was perfect—his father’s weary eyes and their constant poverty prevented that—but he was content. He knew he was cherished and loved by his father and he loved Rumplestiltskin in turn. And Baelfire was a loyal son. His only wish was not for himself, but that his father might heal from the demons that plagued him. 

“Baelfire!” He turned to see his friend Crispin running to him. 

“Hullo,” He said cheerfully. Crispin had always been a loyal friend. He had a generous heart to match his merry blue eyes and was stocky enough to threaten anyone who bullied Baelfire, or made fun of his father.

“Happy birthday, Bae,” Crispin got the formalities out of the way quickly. “Hope you get lots of presents.”

“Oh, stacks,” Baelfire lied. “Papa won’t let me open all of them, says it will take too long.” He could tell by the sympathy in Crispin’s eyes that his friend knew this was a lie, but it was a mark of their friendship that Crispin did call him on it.

“Well,” Crispin said. “We’re playing Warriors out in the woods—want to join? I’ll let you use my slingshot, since it’s your birthday,” He added benevolently. 

Baelfire’s eyes lit up. Crispin’s slingshot was a beautiful weapon, made out of real mahogany with a fine deer-hide strap. It was the envy of every boy in the village. 

“Sure,” He said eagerly. He reverently accepted Crispin’s slingshot, fingering the wood gently, looking up to beam at his friend. 

“Okay, we’re going in the woods,” Crispin directed. “You can be my team’s archer, so climb a tree, and when you see Drosdan or Gormal, take aim and fire!” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll head them off with my mighty sword!” He picked up a long stick, about staff length, and raised it triumphantly. 

“Aye, my liege,” Baelfire said solemnly. “I’ll be quick as a sprite!” And with that, he darted into the woods, eyes searching for the perfect post. 

Baelfire wasn’t allowed to stray too far into the woods, but he was so excited about the game, he went a little deeper than usual. From far off, he’d seen the perfect tree, maple, with just enough height to see anyone coming from either direction. Even better, it was near the forest path, where he presumed his friends would frequent. Gleefully, he gathered up a few pinecones as ammunition in his cloak as well as a few heavy rocks. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone; Baelfire was not a cruel boy, but it was rather fun for whoever had the honor of carrying the slingshot to do a few test shots with real rocks. 

He climbed the tree swiftly, found a relatively comfortable branch, and agreeably began to wait for his fellows. The day truly was perfect—there was nothing Baelfire enjoyed more than the sound of the forest and being safely tucked away in the canopy of green. 

He heard footsteps and voices. Eagerly, he peeked through the leaves, looking towards the footpath, eyes scanning for Drosdan or Gormal. 

He saw neither. Instead, there was a woman in a light blue cloak, backing away from a rather imposing figure in dark green armor. Baelfire frowned, listening. 

“Now milady,” The man said. “Make it easy on yourself. Just come back with me. I doubt Sir Gaston is even that angry, more annoyed than anything else.”

“God forbid,” The woman replied, a bit sarcastically. “Sir Rugen, I probably appreciate your fortitude in finding me even more so than Gaston. But I have no intention of returning. Ever.” 

The man sighed, as if his situation were nothing more than a nuisance. “Milady, I have my orders. If I have to drag you back, so be it.” His hand clamped around the woman’s arm like a vice. 

“Rugen, let go,” The woman’s voice was sharp as a whip. “I mean it—let go!” 

Baelfire knew what he had to do. A maiden was in trouble and it was up to him to save her. He grabbed a sizable rock from his ammunition and loaded it into the slingshot. He aimed carefully—he couldn’t risk hurting the lady—he targeted the center of the rogue’s chest, intending on knocking the wind out of him. He took a deep breath, and released the strap. 

There was a satisfying whizz through the air and Baelfire eagerly watched to see if he hit his mark. He missed the offender’s chest. The rock thwacked the man straight in the head with an almost sickening thud. And the man dropped like a fly. 

Oops. Baelfire had meant to make the discourteous vagrant double over wheezing, not knock him unconscious. He blinked. 

The woman stared at the crumpled form before her. Baelfire expected her to run, but instead she turned towards the forest. 

“Who did that?” She called out. “I’d like to thank them.”

It wouldn’t be honorable to deny a lady that due. Baelfire shimmied down the tree and approached her.

“I did,” He confessed. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

The lady smiled, lowering her hood. Baelfire felt a little dizzy. She was assuredly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was tall and lovely, with piercing blue eyes and gently tousled chestnut curls. Her lips were vibrant, her skin fair…she truly looked like a princess from one of the old ballads. He wondered if she might really be an enchanted princess or perhaps she had fairy blood. 

She inspected Baelfire’s victim with an almost scientific interest. “I don’t think your hurt him,” She reported, nudging the unfortunate Sir Rugen’s head with the toe of her boot. “He has a little scrape on the side of his head and he’ll probably wake up with a nasty headache. By the by, I’m indebted to you.” She flashed another smile and Baelfire continued to consider the possibility of her being a fairy. 

He straightened, trying to appear taller. “It was the honorable thing to do,” He said promptly. “No gentleman should lay his hands on a lady against her will.”

She let out a light chuckle. “I’m lucky to have my very own David against this Goliath. Might I know my rescuer’s name?”

“It’s Baelfire, milady,” He puffed up slightly. 

“Baelfire?” Her blue eyes lighted up at the name. “A strong name. Apt for such a warrior.” Baelfire grinned, feeling exceptionally proud.

“And there’s no ‘milady’ needed. My name is Belle.” She curtsied and Baelfire bowed low, just as his father taught him to do in case he ever met nobility.

He speculated at her refusal at being called ‘milady’. She was clearly nobility—her clothes and clipped speech gave that away—and yet she had enough humility and grace to request that he call her by her given name. She was a rare creature and she was intriguing Baelfire more and more with every passing moment.

This was turning out to be good birthday.

“Why was he after you anyway?” Baelfire asked her curiously. Belle’s lips quirked mischievously at the question.

“He is under fealty to my former fiancé,” Belle explained, brushing off her skirts and examining the marks on her arm that Sir Rugen had left. “The latter being quite irritated that I broke the engagement and ran away.” 

Now Baelfire was very interested. A runaway bride? He immediately jumped to the worst conclusion and frowned fiercely. “Was he cruel to you?”

Belle raised and lowered one shoulder. “I didn’t really intend on being around long enough to find out,” She said decidedly. “I’ve seen him treat others quite…viciously. He was very gentlemanly towards me, but of course, our meetings were always chaperoned…”   
She sighed. “I never really cared much for him anyway. I hate superficiality, and well…” She straightened. “No one decides my fate but me.”

Baelfire respected bravery and he liked the fair amount of courage in Belle’s eyes. “So where will you go?” 

A shadow of doubt fell over Belle. “I’m not sure,” She said slowly. “I want to travel, that much is certain. Although, for now, it’s best I lie I low for a while, as Gaston will be looking for me.”

It was at that moment that Baelfire had a brilliant spark of inspiration. He gasped excitedly and Belle glanced at him questioningly. 

“I’ve got an idea,” He said eagerly. “You should stay with my father and me until your fiancé stops looking for you! We can hide you easily!” This was perhaps not the whole truth, but Baelfire was so thrilled with the plan that he didn’t quite consider all of the ramifications of it. 

Belle, however, was much more practical. “Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you, Baelfire,” She bent slightly to kiss his cheek. “But thank you anyway, truly.”

However, the kiss on Baelfire’s cheek did nothing but make him more determined. “No, no, it’s no trouble at all! It’s a perfect scheme, Belle! Gaston will look for you in the inns and taverns where all the travelers go—he’d never look for you in the home of a poor spinner!”

A glimmer of realization crossed Belle’s face and Baelfire knew he’d scored a point. “Well—I couldn’t impose on your parents—” She began to search for excuses.

“My mother’s dead!” Baelfire said cheerfully. “And my papa wouldn’t mind a bit. C’mon, Belle! It’s a good plan!” This was not strictly true and if Baelfire had thought it through a little further, he would’ve realized that his papa would most certainly mind a great deal. 

“Well…” Belle said reluctantly. “As long as…as long as you’re father’s amiable to it, then I’d happily accept your hospitality.”

“Excellent!” Baelfire beamed. “The deal is struck!”


	2. By Leaps and Bounds

The spinning wheel creaked and whirred as Rumplestiltskin worked. A long time ago, spinning had been relaxing, pleasurable work, many years ago when his worries were much lighter. He could remember his mother teaching him the slow, soothing art, perhaps guessing early that his nimble, wiry fingers wouldn’t be good for much else.

He’d begun to teach Baelfire, and Bae was picking it up well, but he could tell his son didn’t have much interest for it. Baelfire’s thoughts were filled with swordplay and battle, death or glory charges and staying true to honor. Rumplestiltskin sighed. A part of him wondered if he ought to see if he could send him off for fostering—Baelfire would make a fine squire, and an even better knight. But Rumplestiltskin was selfish, keeping his son close to him. He couldn’t bear the thought of being without him. If my son were taken away from me, he thought sadly, I would truly turn to dust. 

He heard the door flap open and he glanced up from his work, surprised that Bae had returned so early. “Bae?” He called out. 

Baelfire eased in, an embarrassed smile on his lips, hands behind his back. Rumplestiltskin sighed. He knew that look. 

“All right, Bae, what is it this time?” He gathered his threads from the spindle. “An eel? A toad? A lizard with a missing tail?” He chuckled at that memory. Baelfire had a kind heart and was always bringing home all manner of creatures. It had taken a while for Rumplestiltskin to convince Bae that a lizard losing his tail was nothing to be concerned about.

“Well, actually,” An unfamiliar voice intoned. “Nothing quite so interesting as that. But it’s nice to know I’m in good company.” A cloaked figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, cautiously joining Baelfire in front of the spinning wheel. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened. 

It was a young woman. He hurriedly stood from his stool, nearly tripping over himself. Feeling awkward, he picked up his staff and attempted a clumsy bow. 

She smiled at him and bobbed a quick curtsy. Rumplestiltskin tried to think of something to say, but he seemed to have lost the ability for speech. A noblewoman—a beautiful noblewoman, who looked as though she’d stepped right out of an expensive tapestry, with her round blue eyes and full red lips. He could tell by the expensive threads in her cloak that she came from quite a bit of money. She was terrifyingly fair. He tried to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He looked at Baelfire for explanation.

“Belle, this is my father, Rumplestiltskin,” Baelfire introduced. “Papa, this is Belle. I saved her out in the forest.”

This time Rumplestiltskin looked at Belle for explanation. 

“Oh, it’s true,” She commented. She nearly sparkled with amusement. “I had a bit of trouble on the road, and your son was brave enough to help me out.”

“I…see,” Rumplestiltskin finally managed to say, although he saw nothing of the kind. “Is there—is there anything we can do for you?”

It was probably his imagination, but for a split second, the confident young woman looked shy, twisting a lock of dark hair between her small fingers. He glanced at Baelfire, who still had that embarrassed grin on his face. Oh dear. This was worse than the badger with the wounded paw.

“Um, papa,” Baelfire began. “Belle needs our help.”

Uh oh, Rumplestiltskin thought.

“She’s running away from an arranged marriage,” Baelfire quickly explained. “But her fiancé’s looking for her, and she needs a place to stay. If we hid her here, there’s no way they’d find her!”

“I truly appreciate it,” Belle broke in. “I promise I won’t be a bother.” She fidgeted slightly, continuing to finger her hair uncomfortably. Rumplestiltskin averted his gaze.

“Bae—can I talk to you for a moment?” He said stepping out from behind the spinning wheel. “Please excuse us.” He herded his son towards the backroom, where they slept. 

He faced his son, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. “Did you tell her she could stay with us?”

Baelfire coughed guiltily. “Well, yes, but—”

“Without discussing it with me?”

“Papa—”

“Bae, we barely have enough food to feed ourselves, let alone some strange girl you met on the road!” Rumplestiltskin refused to yell at his boy, although the frustration made it tempting. No. He had far too many memories of his own father, harshly bellowing at him as he cowered in a corner. He would never, ever do the same to Bae. 

Reality sank into Baelfire’s eyes. The dejection was so clear and poignant in his son’s face; Rumplestiltskin wished he could take it back. He tried to temper his words.

“Bae,” He sighed. “I know you fancy yourself the noble knight and wish to rescue the fair maiden. But—reality is harder, my boy.”

“Excuse me,” Belle tentatively poked her head in. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t really help but overhear...please, don’t be angry with him. He has a very kind heart.” 

The nice thing about frustration was that it gave Rumplestiltskin back his tongue. “I’m not arguing with you, milady,” He exhaled. “And I’m sorry for your circumstances, but we haven’t the means to spare for you.” 

Belle cocked her head interestedly. “I believe you misunderstand me, sir. I'm no one’s charity case. Any extra food, I will pay for and I’ll give you and additional four silvers a week for your hospitality.” She reached towards her girdle, shaking a small, but sizable pouch. 

Rumplestiltskin was man who dealt in coppers, not silvers. His mind was immediately flooded with the possibilities of such an arrangement—he could make those silvers last, they’d have food for at least a month, he could pay his rent and perhaps throw in a little advance payment, to keep his landlord off his back…

Still, he hesitated. Belle was clearly a woman of luxury, and although he was far from a prideful man, the meager accommodations they could afford for her were a little embarrassing. 

“We’ve…we’ve not much room for guests,” Rumplestiltskin started to say. “I suppose…if you’re amenable to it, you could sleep next to the hearth. It’s warmest there.” Her gaze was far too direct for his comfort, so he spoke to a piece of straw on the floor.

“That sounds perfect,” He heard Belle announce promptly. “It looks entirely cozy to me.” She passed him eight pieces of silver—eight pieces of silver—and rocked on her heels, clearly pleased with herself. 

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Baelfire said honestly. Belle waved this off. 

“Not at all,” She said carelessly. “It’s not as if you’re locking me in a dungeon.”

XXXXXX

Belle’s presence in the house, for the most part, was an unnerving one. It had been many years since Rumplestiltskin lived with a woman and truth be told, he hadn’t the faintest idea on how to manage it. Pretty women made him uncomfortable to begin with, living with an extraordinarily beautiful woman was all the worse. 

Belle, to her credit, never complained, never derided their living circumstances, and always remained cheerful and willing to help. Rumplestiltskin would awake to find his wool and cotton freshly cleaned and laid out, their small flock of sheep fed and watered, the room swept, and a pot of hot tea ready and waiting. He appreciated her effort, he truly did. But frankly, she made him nervous and Rumplestiltskin doubted there was much she could do to change that, save developing a warty countenance and perhaps gaining fifty pounds. 

On the morning of her seventh day with them, Rumplestiltskin gathered his threads and packed a light lunch. He turned towards Baelfire and Belle, who were still eating breakfast. He spoke to both of them, although his eyes were focused on his son.

“Market day,” He tried not to stammer. “I—er—I’m going out for the day. I’ll be back later this evening.”

“Why don’t you take Belle with you?” Baelfire piped up, his mouth full of bread. “She hasn’t seen the marketplace.”

Belle swallowed her tea, gulping her assent. “I’d love that,” She said amiably.

Rumplestiltskin felt flustered. “Well—of course you’re welcome—but I’m afraid it won’t be very exciting. I’m just selling and trading a few things.”

“I don’t think it’ll be boring,” Belle said thoughtfully, finishing her last bit of porridge. “Maybe I can help.”

“If—if it pleases you,” Rumplestiltskin relented. “But for safety’s sake, you ought to take one of my or Baelfire’s cloaks. Not that yours isn’t nice,” He hastened to say. “But the whole village will know you’re highborn in it.”

“Good thinking,” Belle agreed, already heading towards the doorway, where they kept their cloaks. He watched as she selected a worn charcoal gray one, slipping it on comfortably, covering her blue dress. Rumplestiltskin had hoped common clothing would detract from her beauty, but unfortunately, all it did was make her a particularly lovely peasant. 

XXXXXXX

Belle had decided that Rumplestiltskin disliked her but she was quite determined to change his opinion. So far, she was not off to a good start. On the way to the market, she tried to keep an upbeat chatter, complimenting his sheep and remarking how picturesque the countryside was, as if out of a book. He only seemed to nod or shrug. Finally, she chose to pepper him with questions until he engaged in conversation. 

“Where are you taking me?” She asked, admiring the green fields. The sun felt warm and inviting on her hair and she smiled as the breeze fluttered her skirts. Freedom felt absolutely wonderful. 

Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. “We’re…going to Mr. Copper,” He gave a half-smile of slight appreciation. “Thanks to you, we can pay our rent in full on time.”

Belle looked at him in surprise. “You don’t own your house?”

He shook his head firmly. “I could never afford such a place. I can barely afford Mr. Copper’s rent, he’s nearly turned us out a few times.” 

Mr. Copper turned out to be a distasteful man with large jowls, expensive clothing and a particularly nasty attitude. He leered at Belle, who was introduced as Rumplestiltskin’s late wife’s cousin, and seemed to enjoy both patronizing and condescending both of them. Mr. Copper accepted Rumplestiltskin’s proffered silver with fat, greedy fingers and after giving Belle one more lecherous look, shut his door in their face. 

“I don’t like him,” Belle said with venom. The look in his eyes reminded her a little too strongly of Gaston. “He’s…unpleasant.”

Rumplestiltskin inclined his head to acknowledge her point. “Unpleasant, yes,” He said. “But enviable.”

“Enviable?” Belle scoffed.

He glanced at her. “Mr. Copper owns nearly every house and building in this village. He’s feared and respected. That’s enviable.”

Belle frowned. “What’s respect and power if you’ve no friends? No loved ones? It strikes me as immeasurably lonely.”

Rumplestiltskin pondered this point. “Maybe,” He allowed. “But if I had that kind of power, I’d turn it for good. I’d be able to help others, never worry about feeding my boy.” And make sure no one ever mocked or spat on me again. He thought grimly. 

In Belle’s experience, riches and power didn’t do much for men’s morality. But it wasn’t her place to say so. She was smart enough to realize that up to this point, her life had been vastly different from Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire’s. She’d never been in poverty, never had to go to bed hungry, so she held her peace. 

The marketplace was busy and bustling, smelling of livestock, spices, and other scents Belle didn’t recognize. She drank it all in, following Rumplestiltskin through the crowd. 

“Where to first?” She asked eagerly. Rumplestiltskin looked slightly amused at her wide-eyed interest. 

“Oh, I suppose to Kentlegrit to get cheated once again,” He said, a little dourly. Belle raised her eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” She asked. 

Rumplestiltskin felt a little sheepish. He doubted it was appropriate to discuss such matters with a lady, but he supposed they’d already broken most rules of propriety anyway. 

“Kentlegrit’s the tailor,” He explained. “I sell wool and thread to all in the village—most can’t afford market-bought clothing—but Kentlegrit buys the most from me. Unfortunately, he lowers the price every time I come to him. Soon I’ll be giving it away for free.” He let out a hoarse, humorless laugh. 

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair,” She said angrily. “You shouldn’t let him cheat you like that!”

Rumplestiltskin paused. “I can’t argue with him,” He said simply, giving no further explanation. Belle scowled with displeasure. She hated any kind of injustice. 

Rumplestiltskin, however, did not want to share with Belle the village’s derision of him. How he was the village coward, reviled and humiliated at every turn, so that whatever spare copper they gave him, he had to be grateful for. She would realize that he was a coward soon enough—but let her think better of him, at least for a while. 

He wasn’t quite sure why this mattered to him.

Belle stopped him for a moment. He looked at her curiously as she straightened firmly. “Rumplestiltskin, will you trust me, just for a moment?” She asked seriously. 

Rumplestiltskin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to trust me, just for a few minutes,” She repeated. “I think I can help you.” 

“How?” Rumplestiltskin was bemused. 

Belle smiled charmingly. “Just trust me. Go do your business with the tailor, and follow my lead.” At that, she slipped into the crowd, unnoticed. Rumplestiltskin stared after her for half a moment, wondering what exactly she was up to, before finally deciding to get on with it. 

He found Kentlegrit at his usual post, setting out his wares. Taking a deep breath, he strode forward, raising his staff in greeting. Kentlegrit halted his work, crossing his arms. He was a balding, oily sort of man, reminiscent of an eel in a creek. Whatever Belle had planned, Rumplestiltskin did not like the idea of confronting him. 

“Selling today, are you?” Kentlegrit said impassively. Rumplestiltskin nodded, handing over his sheepskin bag of threads and yarns for inspection. Kentlegrit fingered each spool carefully.

“Mm,” He said decisively. “I’ll give you three coppers for the lot.”

Rumplestiltskin sputtered. “Three coppers?!” He choked. “Kentlegrit—these are enough spools to help you work for a month! Surely it amounts to more than that!”

Kentlegrit smirked unrepentantly. “Don’t be tedious, Rumplestiltskin. My price is perfectly fair. If you don’t like it, I’ll take my business elsewhere.” 

Rumplestiltskin was about to plead for Kentlegrit to be more reasonable—but they were abruptly interrupted.

“Then he’ll take his business elsewhere.”

Both men’s heads turned to see Belle, looking nonchalant and particularly unimpressed with Kentlegrit. She gave Rumplestiltskin a distant, polite smile, a smile that claimed she didn’t know him. He, on the other hand, all but gaped at her. 

“Excuse me, miss,” Kentlegrit snapped. “Who are you?” 

“A trader,” Belle said carelessly. “And if you’re not interested, then I’ll give him a silver for the lot.” Rumplestiltskin stared at her in stunned shock. Didn’t she hear him? Kentlegrit had said that he could take his business elsewhere…

“I never said I wasn’t interested,” Kentlegrit said huffily. This time Rumplestiltskin stared at Kentlegrit in shock. 

“Really, you implied otherwise,” Belle said coolly. “And frankly, this kind of work would fetch a nice price where I trade. As I said, sir, I’ll give you a silver for the lot.” She looked at Rumplestiltskin expectantly.

“Well, I—” Rumplestiltskin stammered.

“Now hang on!” Kentlegrit spluttered. “We’ve been dealing for years, Rumplestiltskin, are you really going to accept this foreign—trader—girl’s payment over mine?”

Belle laughed. “I’m sorry sir, last I checked, three coppers is significantly less than a silver. Have we a deal, Rumplestiltskin?”

“All right—fine!” Kentlegrit burst out. “Two silvers! Two silvers for the lot!”

Rumplestiltskin looked at Belle. She smiled. “I could probably raise that,” She offered. 

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry miss,” He said formally, his voice strong. “But I’m going to have to favor my best customer.” He accepted the two silvers from Kentlegrit along with a dirty scowl from the latter. 

Belle shrugged. “Have it your way,” She then sauntered off, breezing into the crowd. Rumplestiltskin waited a few seconds and then followed, leaving a grumbling, cursing tailor behind him. 

He found Belle sitting near the town well, looking extremely pleased with herself. She flashed him a bright grin and he couldn’t seem to help grinning back at her. 

“So,” She said presently, smoothing her skirts. “How was bartering?”

Rumplestiltskin stared at her in complete awe and began to laugh. “Good gods—did we just con the tailor?!”

Belle giggled. “It’s not our fault he didn’t read between the lines,” She winked. “In any case, he deserved it for cheating you for so long.” She stood, rocking on her heels, a habit Rumplestiltskin was beginning to recognize. 

“Let’s move on,” She said, her eyes sliding eagerly towards the bookseller. She nearly skipped off and Rumplestiltskin watched her. She'd doubled—no, tripled his earnings by leaps and bounds with just a conversation. She was truly remarkable, as clever as she was beautiful. 

It was at that moment, Rumplestiltskin realized he was in serious trouble.


	3. Bookish

Two of Belle’s most admirable qualities were her patience and her determination. She was resolute that she would grow on Rumplestiltskin and by that token, befriend him. Truth be told, she was rather fond of the spinner. There was something about him that appealed to her—how deeply and clearly he loved his son, the quiet pleasure he got from his spinning wheel. She liked coaxing a rare smile out of him, especially since he looked so world-weary. It certainly was not an easy task, however. He never initiated conversation and often answered her monosyllabically. Since their stunt at the market, he seemed even more withdrawn, which confused Belle further. He’d seemed fairly pleased and happy about their trick.

On the other hand, she and Baelfire never ran out of things to say to each other. He asked her all sorts of questions about where she came from and the sort of journeys the knights went on. She enjoyed telling him of her father, called the Merchant King of the Marchlands, and what it was like in his court. She didn’t quite have the heart to tell him that most of the knights in her father’s court were knights in name only, bestowed to those with the most fealty to him or who had paid the most money. Admittedly, Gaston was a little too attached to his sword, always waving it about, but Belle had the feeling if he ever faced a real threat, his outcome would not be pleasant. 

To compensate for her rather dull life, she told Baelfire every tale of bravery and chivalry she knew from every book she’d read. It became an after dinner ritual—Rumplestiltskin would go to his spinning wheel, she would settle by the hearth, and Baelfire would curl up next to her. Adventure stories had always been her favorite books and it seemed that they were Baelfire’s as well. He drank in everything she said with shining eyes, often begging her to repeat his personal favorites. Rumplestiltskin never showed it, but she could tell by the pausing of his spinning wheel that he was listening just as intently. 

One evening, as she was clearing the dinner dishes and thinking which story to tell Baelfire that night, she hummed without thinking a few bars of an old folk song her wet nurse had sung to her. Of course Baelfire, who never missed anything, commented on it.

“That’s pretty,” He remarked, helping her dry the soapy dishes. “What is it?”

Belle, who hadn’t realized she’d been singing out loud, blushed a little. “Just an old song I know from long ago. It’s called Suil A Ruin.”

Rumplestiltskin suddenly looked up, interested. “I know that song,” He said, his eyebrows raising. “I’m surprised you know it.”

“My nursemaid sang it to me,” Belle replied, feeling pleased that she’d garnered two sentences out of the spinner. “She wasn’t from the Marchlands, she may even have been from here.” 

“Sing it for us, Belle,” Baelfire requested. 

“Bae, I’m no madrigal,” Belle began to scrub their iron pot, giving him a fleeting smile. 

“Oh, come on, Belle,” Baelfire wheedled. “It’s not fair! You and papa know it, but I’ve never heard it.” He clasped his hands together pleadingly. 

Belle sighed. She couldn’t resist those wide dark eyes anyway. Rinsing the iron pot with clean water, she started to sing.

Siuil, siuil, siuil a ruin,  
Siuil go socair agus siuil go ciuin,  
Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom,  
Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan

I wish I was on yonder hill,  
‘Tis there I’d sit and cry my fill,  
And every tear would turn a mill  
I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,  
I’ll sell my only spinning wheel,  
To buy my love a sword of steel

Siuil, siuil, siuil a ruin,  
Siuil go socair agus siuil go ciuin,  
Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom,  
Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan,

I’ll dye my petticoats, I’ll dye them red,  
And ‘round the world I’ll beg my bread,  
Until my parents shall wish me dead

Siuil, siuil. siuil a ruin,  
Siuil go socair agus siuil go ciuin,  
Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom,  
Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.

When she’d finished, she realized that the house was strangely silent. Rumplestiltskin’s spinning wheel had stopped creaking and clacking. Baelfire’s eyes were big and round, still holding his plate. Belle gave a half-smile, feeling slightly abashed. 

“That was beautiful,” Baelfire said solemnly. Belle attempted not to roll her eyes but allowed a humoring smile. She wet a rag and wiped down the table. 

“What’s it mean?” Baelfire asked wonderingly. 

“Well,” Belle explained, wringing the rag between her hands. “It’s about a woman—and her true love is going away to the wars. But she doesn’t want him to go, so instead, they run away together, even though she knows it means she’ll be a beggar and that her parents will hate her. But it’s true love, so she’s willing to risk it all and give it all for him.” A soft, warm expression came over her as she neatly folded the rag. 

There was a strange, unfamiliar sound behind them, almost similar to a hoarse cough. To Belle’s great shock, she realized that Rumplestiltskin was laughing. Laughing. 

“What?” Baelfire blinked at his father. Belle was too stunned form coherent sentences. 

“That’s not what the song means,” He chortled. He tried to cover his mouth but the chuckles kept spilling out. Belle looked highly affronted.

“It does to!” She protested. It was hard to be offended though, when he looked so amused. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Rumplestiltskin was grinning. “It’s about a woman who is supporting her lover’s military career, even though her parents are against her loving a penniless foot-soldier.”

“Hmph,” Belle sniffed. “I like my interpretation better.” For some reason, this comment seemed to make Rumplestiltskin laugh all the more harder. 

“Stop!” She began to giggle herself. “My translation is viable!”

“Not if you actually know what the lyrics translate to,” Rumplestiltskin retorted before doubling over. Belle crossed her arms and tried to look offended but she couldn’t seem to manage it. Rumplestiltskin ought to laugh this hard all the time, it seemed to fill their small house with light.

Baelfire grinned at the pair of them. “Well, I’m sorry, Belle,” He announced. “I like papa’s translation better.”

“And why is that?” Belle inquired, cheeks pink and flushed from their outburst. 

“Because if I were to go to war, I’d want my true love to encourage me and do her duty, even if it makes her sad,” Baelfire explained, putting his plate away. He took Belle’s hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world and led her to the hearth. When she seated herself, he followed in suit, leaning against her side. This did not escape Rumplestiltskin’s notice and it made Belle almost glow with pleasure. 

“That’s a tough lot for your true love,” Belle replied a little dryly, tugging a lock of Baelfire’s dark hair. 

Baelfire snickered. “Well, would you do like what you think the song says? Would you run away?” Belle couldn’t help but observe that Rumplestiltskin was listening intently. She wondered why. 

She considered Baelfire’s question. “No…I don’t think I’d run away,” She said thoughtfully. “War may be an ugly thing, but it’s not the ugliest thing. I think—” She gave an embarrassed smile.

“What?” Baelfire urged.

“I think I’d run away to war with my true love,” Belle answered, blushing a little. “I don’t like the idea of him fighting alone. I think together, we’d make each other brave.”

The spinning wheel began to clack again and Belle glanced at Rumplestiltskin. His head was bowed. She couldn’t tell if her answer offended or pleased him. 

Baelfire sniggered. “I can’t see you with a sword,” He commented starkly. Belle’s fingers flew to Baelfire’s sides and she tickled him mercilessly as punishment. 

“I’ll have you know,” She said archly through Baelfire’s giggles as he rolled on the floor. “That I would be a force to be reckoned with!” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Rumplestiltskin murmured so softly that Belle almost wondered if she imagined his comment. His head lifted from his work. Belle saw that his eyes were filled with warmth and something she didn’t quite recognize. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to say something to her, perhaps commenting on her beliefs of heroism and true love.   
Instead, he called to Baelfire. “All right, Bae, you’ve been up for long enough. It’s time for bed.”

“Yes, papa,” Baelfire said agreeably, looking spent from Belle’s torture. He heaved himself up and kissed his father’s cheek. He then turned and walked back towards Belle, promptly kissing her on the cheek as well. Belle stared at him, wide-eyed with astonishment and delight. 

“Good night, papa, good night, Belle,” Baelfire said smothering a yawn before retreating towards the backroom. The room was suddenly much quieter. Belle shifted by the fire, wrapping a blanket about herself. 

Rumplestiltskin knew he should make his own excuses and retire as well. He’d done a fair job of avoiding her as much as possible for past few days. But the feeling of contentment and peace that overwhelmed the room was intoxicating. He didn’t want to leave it. He didn’t want to leave the sunlight that Belle seemed to carry with her wherever she went. 

He was attracted to her and this was a problem. But how could he help that? He’d been alone for a very long time and had not received any kind of female attention for an even longer time. Belle was beautiful and clever, vibrant and young, clever and vivacious. Any man would want her. It was no wonder her errant fiancé was chasing after her. 

“Why do you spin so much?” Belle asked interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at her. She had her legs tucked under her knees, the blanket wrapping about her like a cocoon. He swallowed a little. He should’ve known the comfortable silence wouldn’t last. 

“Sorry but—you’ve enough money to last you and Baelfire a while, so you don’t need to spin more spools for money right now.” She continued, still waiting for a response. 

He cleared his throat. “I…like to watch the wheel,” He said slowly. “It helps me forget.”

“Forget what?” 

The wheel paused for a moment and to Rumplestiltskin’s shock, he realized that he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to share with her his life, his insecurities, his cowardice, his wife’s rejection. He longed to have that kind of intimacy with her, without fear of her judgment and hatred. 

He shook his head briskly. Belle was most certainly not his wife or lover and he had no business treating her that way. 

“I guess it worked,” He finally replied with a feeble joke. She cracked a smile at that, but still gave him that searching expression. 

He tried to change the subject. “Bae loves those stories you tell him,” He commented, pausing his wheel and trying to look at her.   
“Did you hear those from your nursemaid too?”

“I read them,” She answered. She smiled a little mischievously. “I didn’t take much when I left, but I couldn’t resist stealing my favorite books.” She leaned around herself to reveal a bulging cloth bag filled with what looked like rocks. 

The corners of Rumplestiltskin’s mouth quirked. “You brought all those?”

Belle giggled. “It’s not as if anyone else ever read them. Books are like good friends. I couldn’t bear to be without them.”

“Could you read me one?” Rumplestiltskin heard himself ask. He flushed deeply and hoped the dim light had kept her from seeing. 

Belle brightened. “Well, here,” She pulled out a thin cloth-bound book and scooted herself closer to his stool to hand it to him. “Why don’t you read it to me?”

Rumplestiltskin’s swallowed. “U-u-uh—all right—” He opened the book and stared at the words on the page, willing himself to remember. Finally, he shut it, looking away from her. “I—I can’t.”

Comprehension dawned on Belle’s face. “You mean, you never learned?”

“I learned,” Rumplestiltskin said quickly. “A—a little. My mother taught me my letters, and I taught Bae…it’s just…been so long…” He remembered liking those quiet moments with his mother. She never taught him when his father was around—always when he was passed out drunk or at the local tavern. But her patient, calm voice helping him struggle out words on her slate remained stark and loving in the memories his childhood. Those moments were few and far between. His father had found out about the reading lessons and had thrown himself into a terrible fury, bellowing and cursing Rumplestiltskin’s mother, saying the two were conspiring against him. From that point onwards, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t touched a book, too scared of angering his father. 

“Well here,” Belle’s tender voice broke through the sad thoughts. “I’ll help you.” She patted the spot next to the fire encouragingly. Rumplestiltskin wanted to refuse but he couldn’t seem to say no to her earnest blue eyes. He got up from his spinning wheel and sat next to her, carefully making sure they were at least an inch apart. 

Belle didn’t seem to realize the necessity for space. She leaned into him, pointing to the first lines on the page. “Let’s start here.” He tried to ignore her warmth on his shoulder. 

He concentrated. “T—tuhwoh—twoh…” That didn’t make sense. Twoh wasn’t a word. 

“Two,” Belle corrected gently. 

“Oh, two,” Rumplestiltskin muttered. “I knew that. Two…house—households…both a lick—a like—in dig…nih…tye…dignihtye…dignity!” He said triumphantly.

“Right,” Belle smiled at his delight. Good gracious, she liked how he smiled. He looked so delighted with himself, like a little boy. She put her finger to the next line and waited for him to continue, the fire crackling warmly behind them.

XXXXXX

For the first time since Belle’s stay, Rumplestiltskin rose earlier than she did. It wasn’t even dawn yet, the sky was dark with only the barest touches of pink and gold to the east. He was the sort of man who wasn’t able to fall back asleep once awoken no matter how tired he was, so he clambered out of bed, groping for his staff. 

He walked quietly into the common area, taking great care not to wake Belle, who was curled up next to the hearth. She was all but a shapeless mass; she was so deeply buried in her blankets. He couldn’t help gazing at her sleeping form, just for a few moments. She was so lovely. 

Before his daydreams wandered too far, he busied himself in slicing the bread, pulling out the kettle, running over his list of things to do in his head. He heard Belle murmur a little and quietly took the kettle towards the hearth. 

She was sitting up, blinking blearily, but she smiled brightly when she saw him. “Good morning,” She greeted.

“Morning,” He replied softly, placing the kettle over the fire. He wanted to say more, to thank her for patiently going through her entire book with him, never once making him feel dull or slow. He wanted to ask her if they could do it again tonight. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, their eyes locked and he felt as though the floor was giving way under him. 

The moment was broken by Baelfire entering. They hurriedly looked away from each other. 

XXXXXX

At around noon, Belle requested to visit the bookshop, which amused Rumplestiltskin, since she’d spent a good two hours there when she’d gone to the market the first time. He readily agreed, deciding to take Baelfire with them as well and let him choose a treat from the sweets shop to make up for his less than celebratory birthday. In any case, there was something appealing about going to the market with Baelfire and Belle, like a real family. Of course this was impossible and beyond the realms of Rumplestiltskin’s wildest imaginings, but he couldn’t help but want it just the same. 

Baelfire quickly took off for the sweetshop as soon as it was in eyesight. Belle was more patient, but he could see her eyes light up as they walked towards the bookshop. 

“I thought you stole your favorite books,” He said, a little teasingly, surprising himself. “Do you really need more?”

“Always,” Belle said promptly. “You can never, ever have enough books.” They entered the bookshop and he watched Belle flit from shelf to shelf. She paused occasionally, running a finger or two down a book’s spine lovingly. 

“Ooh!” She suddenly cried out, spying a dark red book on the upper shelf. “I know that story! Oh, it’s so wonderful, you have to hear it—” She grabbed a ladder nearby and began to ascend, intent on grabbing the book. 

“Be careful,” Rumplestiltskin warned as she excitedly climbed. “Don’t fall.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” She said carelessly. She stretched out, trying to slide the book out. “Oh, it’s stuck.” She yanked harder. 

Rumplestiltskin saw what was going to happen before it actually happened. She gave the book a mighty tug and it released suddenly, surprising her, her feet slipping out from under her. She lost her footing and fell backwards. 

If Rumplestiltskin were twenty years younger and not lame, he could have caught her. And in that moment of fear for Belle, he forgot that he was crippled, weak, and a good deal too old for princely gallantries. He moved automatically, reaching out to catch her. His arms managed to circle her as she fell on him and he promptly crumpled like a sack of flour. 

“Oh gracious, I’m so sorry!” She’d fallen on her side, her shoulders digging into his chest. Embarrassed, she turned her head towards his, apologies spilling out. “I’m so clumsy, I’m so sorry—are you hurt?”

“No,” He managed to gasp out, which was true, although it was slightly humiliating to have collapsed under the weight of such a spritely girl. His back was killing him against the hard floor, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. At his laughter, Belle began to giggle too. 

At that moment, Belle realized she was lying on top of him and their faces were inches apart. Their laughter quieted and Belle began to feel her heartbeat quicken. He was looking at her in a way she’d never been looked at before. She stared at him, suddenly feeling overly warm. Wild thoughts were dancing in her head and she flushed. 

“Is everything all right? I heard a thump!” The bookkeeper came from the backroom, looking worried and puzzled. Belle scrambled to get off of Rumplestiltskin, brushing her skirts. 

“Fine,” She said, her voice unnaturally high. “Just—had a bit of an accident. Everything’s all right.” 

Rumplestiltskin reached for his staff and stood, wincing as he put a little too much weight on his bad leg. “Yes,” He gave her an inscrutable look. “Everything is—fine.”


	4. Honeyed Wishes

AN: For Accio-firewhiskey’s prompt, ‘the blue fairy’ and a prompt made by Earth-guardian. 

Ciorstag was one of the few in the village who did not revile Rumplestiltskin. It was hard to call her a friend—it was hard to call anyone a friend—but she didn’t chear or insult him, and Rumplestiltskin was grateful for that. He’d known her since they were young and although Ciorstag was a firm, narrow sort of woman, there had never been enmity between them, even after the first Ogre’s War. Originally, she’d been a midwife, the very midwife that helped birth Baelfire, in fact. She was left her husband’s shop when he died, which she promptly continued, despite the grumblings of a woman owning a business. Ciorstag was also Crispin’s grandmother, the same Crispin who’d lent Baelfire his slingshot that the day he met Belle.

Ciorstag was a slight, angular woman, with unusually large owl-like eyes. She was beheading dandelions, her hair tied up in a gray-streaked knot, when Rumplestiltskin and Belle walked in. Ciorstag straightened.

“Well, well,” She commented. “What can I do for you…two?”

“Ciorstag,” Rumplestiltskin said awkwardly. “This is—my late wife’s cousin, Belle.” Belle gave a slight curtsy and smiled.

Ciorstag eyed Belle, twirling a dandelion stem between her fingers. “I wasn’t aware Gruoch had any family,” She said after a pause.

Belle glanced at Rumplestiltskin who coughed. “She’s er—a distant cousin.”

“We’re here for some salve,” Belle spoke up changing the subject. “For his leg.”

It was a rare moment when Rumplestiltskin could afford such a thing but Belle had insisted after the mishap at the bookshop.

As an answer, Ciorstag turned towards a stone shelf behind her, selecting a jar about the size of Belle’s hand.

“Rub this on your leg every evening and morning,” Ciorstag directed, handing the jar to Rumplestiltskin. “That ought to help for the pain. I’ll give it to you for five coppers.” This was more than reasonable and Rumplestiltskin paid her, hoping to leave quickly.

Ciorstag, however, would have none of that. “So tell me,” She said easily, gathering up the dandelion heads and placing them in a glass bottle. “How long will you be staying?”

Rumplestiltskin looked at Belle. There was something about the question that made his stomach lurch. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Belle answered, fiddling with a loose string on her dress. “I hate being a burden to—to family, so hopefully not long.”

“You’re not a burden,” Rumplestiltskin said without thinking. She lifted her heads towards him, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. She flushed, rocking back on her heels nervously. Ciorstag looked between the two of them, her eyebrows continuing to arch. 

Before anyone could say anything else, the deer-hide curtain of the apothecary flapped open and Baelfire trotted in. 

“Papa,” He said excitedly, his eyes shining. “Gormal just told me—there’s a beehive a quarter mile into the wood! Fresh honey!”

Belle perked up, grateful for an escape from the interrogation. “Honey?” She questioned.

“Yes!” Baelfire said eagerly. “But we have to hurry or someone else will get there first!”

“All—all right—” She said bemused. She smiled at Rumplestiltskin. “Shall we go?”

“Go ahead with Baelfire, I’ll meet you there,” He answered her, feeling eyes on the back of his head. Ciorstag was now drumming her fingers on the stone shelf and giving him a rather expressive look. 

“All right,” Belle replied as Baelfire tugged her hand impatiently. The two exited the apothecary and Rumplestiltskin took a breath, turning towards Ciorstag. 

Her lips were pursed. “Gruoch’s distant cousin, hm,” She deadpanned, flicking a stem at him. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. 

Rumplestiltskin gave her a weak smile. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Rumplestiltskin,” Ciorstag said calmly. “I would think you would know me better than to expect a feeble story like that would satisfy me.”

He sighed. “All right, you win. She’s a woman Bae found in the woods and she’s running away from an arranged marriage. She’s staying with us until he stops looking for her.”

“And that’s all?” The corners of Ciorstag’s mouth quirked. 

“Yes, of course, that’s all,” Rumplestiltskin frowned. He didn’t like what Ciorstag’s facial expressions seemed to be implying. 

“Well, maybe that’s all for you,” Ciorstag said presently, although she snorted as she spoke. She picked up a basket of mushrooms. “But not for her.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled, packing away the jar of salve. He wanted to leave but Ciorstag’s sharp stare seemed to prevent him from doing so. 

“I’m never foolish,” Ciorstag said crisply and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t argue with that. Ciorstag was a woman who had no room for whimsy in her life. 

“Then you’re mistaken,” Rumplestiltskin said through tight lips. He couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation. 

“She was the one who was making cow eyes at you,” Ciorstag remarked, lifting a bucket of water and starting to wash the mushrooms.

“She was doing no such thing,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.

“Are you blind as well as lame?” Ciorstag inquired.

“No!” Rumplestiltskin said exasperated. “I’m just helping her. She’ll be leaving soon enough. She has no intention of staying with a old crippled widower and his son. She has better things to do!”

Ciorstag paused in her work. Her eyebrows were still raised, making her look positively hawk-like. “Why are you so insistent that she has no feelings for you?”

Rumplestiltskin glared at her, refusing to answer the inane question.

“Because you think she cannot love you?”

His expression was positively lethal. If looks could kill, Ciorstag would be dead from several stab wounds. 

“Fine,” Ciorstag with a wave of her hand, dismissing him. “But you could free yourself. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

XXXXXXX

“How far away is this beehive?” Belle asked Baelfire as he hurried along the forest path. That was something she liked about the village, no matter where they went, the woods always surrounded them. They were cool and welcoming with the sounds of birds chattering from tree to tree, the creek making a lazy but methodical path. Baelfire grinned at her.

“Not far,” He assured her, quickening his pace. “I can’t wait to get there. It’s been a while since we’ve had fresh honey.”

“Honey is good,” Belle agreed. “If there’s enough, maybe I can make you and your father a treat.” She wasn’t much of a cook but if she could scrounge up the ingredients, she could probably make them all some sweets.

“Oh yes!” Baelfire said happily. Belle noticed his grip on her hand tighten while he slowed down for a moment. She glanced at him, concerned. 

“Is something the matter?” She asked, deftly stepping over a branch, her eyes never leaving Baelfire.

“No,” He said, exhaling quietly. “It’s just—I like having you here, Belle. I wish you could stay for—for a while longer.”

Belle gave him a sad smile. “Well,” She said ducking a low-hanging branch that Baelfire easily skirted. “I like being here too, Bae.”

Baelfire was meditative for a moment. Belle licked her lips, disliking the melancholy in the moment. Before she could change the subject, Baelfire spoke again.

“Papa likes having you here too,” He commented cautiously, as if out of turn. 

Belle’s blue eyes crinkled above her humoring grin. “And what makes you say that?”

“He smiles more now,” Baelfire told her, stopping for a moment. “I can’t even remember—the last time he laughed. But he does with you.” He watched her anxiously for her reaction, biting his lip.

Belle wasn’t sure how to respond. Luckily, she didn’t have to as Baelfire’s eyes lit excitedly.

“Do you hear that?” He said eagerly. Belle listened. Sure enough, a low humming filled the air. The beehive was close.

“Well, what will you have me do?” Belle asked Baelfire, happy to have a change of subject. “I must admit, I don’t know much about stealing honey from bees.”

Baelfire considered this point and his brow furrowed further. “You should stay here,” He said decidedly. “I’ll get the honey myself. I know how to do it.”

“Oh, Bae, are you sure?” Belle said worriedly. “Surely there’s something I can do.”

Baelfire shook his head fiercely. “No, milady,” He said boldly. “You could get stung! I could never live with myself if my lady got hurt in my presence.” He bowed grandly and Belle giggled.

“All right, have it your way,” She ruffled his dark hair. “I’ll wait here for your return, good knight.”

Baelfire gave another deep bow and scurried off towards buzzing. Sighing, Belle leaned against an oak tree admiring the scenery around her. They were in a pretty little glen where a few patches of sunlight warmed the clearing. The wind smelled of fresh water and flowers. Belle was content here. 

Trouble. Trouble, trouble, trouble. Shouldn’t she be gone by now? She’d planned on staying no more than two weeks when she first entered Rumplestiltskin’s home; she’d already been there nearly a month. What was she doing? Didn’t she still want to travel, to see the world, to go on adventures? Wasn’t that why she left Gaston to begin with, because she didn’t want to be trapped in that provincial life? 

The desire to see the world hadn’t left, Belle realized. It was still there—but there was a new desire too, a desire that was burning in her skin and coiling in her stomach. It frightened her. She crossed her arms against her chest, trying to think logically. 

But before she could clear her mind, she heard another sound. It was a strange buzzing noise that almost overlapped with a girlish voice. At first, she thought it was the bees, but it was a solitary noise—not a swarm. Ears pricked, she leaned forward. 

“Hello?” She asked curiously.

“Oh, help! Please help!”

Belle’s eyes widened. She followed the pleas towards a lilac bush. She knelt down, and discovered a bird snare. Her eyes widened. Struggling within the snare’s confines, was a little figure of a woman, dressed all in pink, wings crumpled against her. Belle gasped. It was a fairy, caught in a bird trap.

The sprite’s eyes were red and swollen. “Oh please help!” She begged. “Please!”

“Oh of course,” Belle murmured, quickly getting over her shock. “Of course!” She drew a small blade from her girdle and cut the trap, gently smoothing the remains off of the fairy with her forefinger.

There was sudden cloud of smoke and sparkles that stung Belle’s nose and made her sneeze. Belle rubbed her eyes and to her astonishment the tiny fairy was now her size. 

“Thank you,” The fairy breathed, nearly tackling Belle in a hug. “Thank you so much!”

“Ah—it was nothing,” Belle managed to gasp out under the confines of the embrace. “Are—are you really a—?”

“A fairy?” She giggled and gave a curtsy. “Yes. My name’s Nova!”

Belle regarded her, fascinated. She’d heard of fairies of course, but she’d never seen one before. Nova was particularly lovely in her rather outlandish dress. She had eyes like a basset hound, Belle realized with amusement. Somehow she imagined fairies a little less…clumsy, perhaps. But there was something about the genuine sweetness in Nova’s eyes that appealed to Belle. 

“How on earth did you get caught in that trap if you can be human-sized?” Belle asked curiously. Nova blushed deeply.

“Oh goodness,” She began to babble, bits of glitter sprinkling off her as nattered on. “I was flying lower than I’m supposed to—I could resist, the forest is so lovely this time of year—and I saw the lilac bush, and I just wanted to smell it, just for a few seconds, and I thought, ‘How incredible it must be to the butterflies to smell a lilac bush!’ because they’re so small, and lilacs must be enormous to them! So I shrank to smell them and it was glorious but I got caught in that silly bird snare, and I couldn’t call the other fairies because I’m already on probation, and I wasn’t supposed to be flying this low, because I was carrying the fairy dust—OH!” A look of horror fell across Nova’s dainty features. 

“Er—Nova?” Belle had only caught about half of the fairy’s ramblings but the look of terror on the fairy’s bright face was unnerving. 

“The fairy dust!” Nova wailed. “I was supposed to deliver it and now I’ve misplaced it! Oh no!” She began to scrabble through the bushes frantically.

“It’s all right,” Belle tried to calm the frazzled fairy. “We’ll find it, I’m sure it can’t be far.”

“I’ve lost it!” Nova was trying not to cry, but large fat tears had begun leak out of the corners of her eyes. “Oh, my teacher will be so angry!”

“Your teacher?” Belle blinked.

“Yes, yes, the Reul Ghorm, the Blue Fairy,” Nova sniffled. “She’s training me, but I don’t think I’m doing very well under her. I don’t think—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to become a fairy godmother at this rate.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine,” Belle assured her. “I think you’d be a wonderful fairy godmother.” She helped Nova search through the bushes, a little more patiently. She noticed a large sack on its side a little ways away from the lilac bush. She went for it, lifting the heavy bag towards Nova. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Belle asked. Nova cried out in happiness, snatching the bag.

“Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!” Nova sang out. “You’ve saved me twice now!”

“It was really not that much of a rescue,” Belle said amused. “Just be careful next time. And don’t take your mistakes too much to heart. Mistakes show us that we’re learning, not that we’re failing.”

Nova stared at Belle, her eyes shining. “You are wonderful,” She breathed. “I want to give you a gift!” Excited with the idea, she clapped her hands, nearly dropping her bag again. Belle helped her catch it.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept anything from you,” Belle smiled. “Just go and live your dream, all right?”

“No, no!” Nova insisted. “I—I can’t give it to you right now. I have to ask the Blue Fairy’s permission first. But—I’d like to grant you a wish. Like a real fairy godmother.”

“Oh—I—” Belle stammered. “I wouldn’t know what to wish for…”

“Well,” Nova said earnestly. “You’ll have a little time while I ask for permission. So think it over. There must be something your heart desires. And when you think of it—just call my name!”

Belle hesitated. Somehow a wish from an accident-prone fairy didn’t seem like the most practical of gifts, but hurting Nova’s feelings was out of the question. “All right,” Belle conceded. “I accept your gift with gratitude and I shall do just that.” Nova squealed with delight and crushed Belle again in a hug.

“Belle!”

Belle and Nova turned. Baelfire was shouting for her. 

“I have to go,” Belle said apologetically. “I hope to see you again soon, Nova.” Nova beamed at this and there was another cloud of sparkling smoke. Belle watched the little pink fairy flit away, carrying her sack of fairy dust with her. She grinned. How magical this forest was!

“Belle! Where did you go?”

“Here I am,” Belle called. Baelfire emerged from the trees, carrying several combs of honey. He’d clearly already begun to snack on it; his face was covered in the syrup. 

“Where were you?” Baelfire said, a mouth full of honey.

“Nowhere,” Belle answered smiling. “Let’s go home.”

They met Rumplestiltskin outside his house. He laughed when he saw Baelfire’s sticky face and Belle couldn’t help but notice that laughter took years off his face. Perhaps Baelfire was right. His father’s eyes were less hunted and fearful and he looked—looked almost handsome standing in the fading light, hugging his son. 

Baelfire darted inside. Belle made to follow but Rumplestiltskin stopped her for a moment. He hesitated shyly, staring anywhere but directly at her.

“What is it?” Belle asked him, rocking on her heels nervously. The sun was setting and for some reason the burnt colors around them set a tone she wasn’t certain she was ready for.

“I…” Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. From behind his back, he drew out a single rose and handed it to her. Belle’s eyes widened.

“An—old woman was selling flowers for a pittance,” He said nervously, as if expecting her to reject the flower. “Here—if you’ll have it.”

Belle’s cheeks warmed. “Why thank you,” She curtseyed, accepting the rose. He smiled at her and Belle realized that like Baelfire, she too had the ability to seemingly lift years off his countenance. She watched him head into the house feeling light-headed.

She smelled the rose. As its aroma filled her senses, she realized what wish she wanted the most, and it was a wish no fairy could grant.

XXXXXXXX

“Excuse me,” A tall, dark and handsome man interrupted Kentlegrit as he packed up his wares for the day. 

Kentlegrit scowled. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for someone,” The young man said. “A young woman. I believe she may have passed through here.”

Kentlegrit sneered at the stranger. “And who are you?”

He folded his arms stiffly. “I am Sir Gaston. And I’m looking for my fiancé.”


	5. Sweets and Sorrow

AN: Just so you all know, I’m slightly lengthening the story to make room for a couple of new ideas I had. It will now be around 8-10 chapters—I’m shooting for nine. Also, my description of how to make Turkish delight is completely inaccurate. For Accio-firewhiskey’s prompts “Turkish delight” and “she can’t sew”.   
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It was not a matter of affection. It was a matter of principle.

Yes, principle. Gaston liked the sound of that. It sounded suitably noble enough to describe his mission. A matter of pride and principle. Belle running away reflected badly on him, and he would not stand for it. She would be made to surrender. 

He’d never understood the strange girl. Gaston had known her since they were children, and she’d always been standoffish and odd. Belle had had little patience with the other girls of court—Gaston had once heard her tell her father that she thought they were silly. She read far too much and books gave her unbelievable airs. She actually dared to give her father political counsel and requested to sit in during government meetings. It was unseemly. Not to mention, she also had the annoying habit of constantly defying him.

There were many instances of this. He recalled one particular time when he was nine, and he’d been playing with some of the other noblemen’s children on a balmy summer day. He’d scooped a goldfish out of one of the garden ponds. “Look everyone,” He’d called playfully. “See this fish dance for us!” The other children had laughed hard at the gasping, flopping animal and Gaston had felt very smug at the approval. 

Belle, however, had not found it amusing. She’d gotten angry—she’d called him a beastly creature, kicked him in the shins, and returned the goldfish to the pond. Then the other children had laughed at him.

“You can’t do that,” He’d snarled at her in the midst of his temper tantrum, red-faced and crying. “We’re betrothed! That means you have to do what I say!”

“You’re not my husband yet!” She’d fired back, and had stormed off in all her seven-year-old fury while he watched enraged.

It had always been like this. He’d been thankful that Belle had grown up to be a beautiful young woman; otherwise their impending nuptials would be quite unpalatable. He’d attempted to court her properly, offering her trinkets and jewels, inviting her to watch him joust or hunt, always making sure to tell her what a lovely flower she was and how her beauty was her crowning delight. It didn’t seem to make a difference. She never actively avoided him, but she didn’t seem to enjoy his presence the way the other ladies of court did. He couldn’t fathom the reason; he knew he was handsome and well sought after. 

And then she’d run off. Belle left a note for her father (no such note for Gaston) waxing on some nonsense about finding adventure and being brave and choosing her own fight. It was absolutely ridiculous. He’d vowed then and there that he’d find her, no matter where she was. She would be made to obey. She would learn wifely submission.

He’d sent men out to search for her far and wide. At first he’d intended on staying at court and letting his men handle it, but the whispers and chuckles behind his back grew to be too much. He was the laughingstock of court and he could no longer stand it. So he’d ventured out as well, heading north along the Kitsis river. He’d traveled about a week with no success when a messenger brought word from Sir Rugen.

He’d found Rugen in a tavern with a large, egg-shaped swelling on his forehead. Gaston had wrinkled. 

“What on earth happened to you?” He’d asked, taking a seat. He snapped his fingers at the tavern wench and she brought him a flagon of ale. 

“I don’t know,” Rugen had snapped back. “But I found her.”

Gaston sneered. “And what? She did this?” He prodded Rugen’s bruise and he winced painfully. 

“No,” Rugen bit out. “I don’t know who did that. Whoever they are, they’ll pay…” He stabbed the table with a butter knife broodingly. Gaston rolled his eyes. 

“Your tales of incompetence don’t interest me,” He said solidly, taking a sip of ale. “But why are you still in the area? She must’ve passed through here by now.”

“When I came to, her tracks didn’t lead down the road, they led into the woods and she was accompanied by someone. My guess is, she’s hiding here, somewhere in this village.” Rugen leaned forward as he spoke, eyes glinting. Gaston did not look convinced. 

“In this pig sty of a village?” Gaston scoffed. “Ridiculous. She would’ve passed through here by now.” Rugen was raving. There no clear evidence that they should stay in this miserable little town. It really was a wretched little place, stinking of livestock, manure, and earth. More than anything, Gaston suspected that Rugen simply wanted revenge on the poor fool who’d gotten the jump on him. 

“I’m telling you, I’m certain she’s here,” Rugen said urgently. “Someone helped her escape from me! She must be here…”

XXXXXX

When Rumplestiltskin entered his house, a deliciously sweet aroma welcomed his senses. It was a welcome comfort from being out with the sheep all day. It had been hot, sweaty work, and the humidity from the oncoming rainstorm had not helped matters. He inhaled deeply, following the source of the smell. He found Belle sprinkling honey and icing sugar on something that looked like a jellied tart. 

“What’s this?” He asked curiously, extending a forefinger to investigate. Belle flicked it with a dishrag. 

“Don’t touch,” She chided. “It’s Turkish delight and it’s not quite done yet, it needs to sit out for a bit. Besides, I want Baelfire to have the first taste.”

Rumplestiltskin gave her a mock-dejected look and she giggled. “They smell good,” He commented. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can’t,” Belle replied cheerfully, wiping her hands on the dishrag. “I can only really make candies. My mother taught me when I was young.” She glanced towards the window with a contented sigh. “Where is Bae, by the way?” 

“With a few of his friends,” Rumplestiltskin answered, stretching his sore muscles. The weather was playing havoc with his lame leg and he winced in pain. “Probably desperately excited. There’s a feast tomorrow—the feast of the Reul Ghorm, a children’s feast. It’s tradition for the children to spend the night in the woods, dancing and playing and making merry. Bae looks forward to it every year.” He shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t much like the feast—spending a sleepless night worrying about all the possible things that could happen to Bae in the dark woods was never something Rumplestiltskin particularly cared for. 

“Ah,” Belle’s eyes widened with interest, putting away the honey. “And what do the grown-ups do during this feast?”

“Drink, mostly,” Rumplestiltskin said idly. This, of course, was only half of went on, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to discuss such things with her.   
He coughed awkwardly. 

“There’s also—dancing and bonfires and such,” He hurriedly added, crossing the room to sit at his spinning wheel. “It’s fun—or so I’ve heard.” 

“Do you like it?” Belle joined him, taking her usual spot by the hearth. He gave her a half-smile.

“I’m not much for dancing,” He said wryly, tapping his lame leg. “But you should go. Most of the young people enjoy it.”

Belle made a face. “I’m not that young and you’re not that old,” She said tartly. She crossed her arms defiantly. 

He was both pleased and annoyed that she dismissed their age difference so easily. The idea of Belle dancing with some brawny male was not a pleasant image, he’d admit. But Belle was not his, and he shouldn’t have to keep reminding himself of this. 

Rumplestiltskin noticed her fumble with a pile of clothing by her side. He raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I ripped my dress when I fell the other day, at the bookshop,” She colored slightly. “So I’m patching it up.” 

Rumplestiltskin glanced at the cloth quizzically. Her stitches were terrible—completely jagged and crooked. She also kept stabbing herself with the needle; if she wasn’t careful, she’d stain the pretty blue material with blood.

“Honestly,” He snorted, causing her to pause in her work. “She can strike a bargain, she can do any number of figures in her head, she can read the most bewildering of books, but she can’t sew.” He left his wheel, sitting next to her by the hearth. He gently tugged the fabric out of her hands. 

Belle appeared greatly offended. “I can sew!” She protested. “It’s nearly done now!” This earned another snort from Rumplestiltskin. 

“It’ll rip through the first moment you wear it and if it doesn’t, you’ll still look like a tinker,” He said firmly. “Here—let me show you.” He threaded the needle with practiced ease. He found the tear with little trouble and effortlessly removed Belle’s clumsy stitches, turning the dress inside out.

“Your stitches shouldn’t show on the dress,” He told her, sliding the needle in and out. “And make them as small as possible. Now you try.” He handed her the needle.

Belle gazed at him, needle poised above the dress. “Where did you learn to sew?” 

“My mother taught me,” Rumplestiltskin answered quietly. “As well as spinning. Good thing too, otherwise Bae would have nothing to wear.” He attempted a smile and Belle wondered about his wife. She turned back towards her work.

Belle’s brow furrowed in concentration. She pushed the needle through awkwardly, biting her lip as she pulled it clean. Rumplestiltskin tried not to laugh at her struggle, but there was a certain charm about her ineptitude in a seemingly simple task. 

“You don’t need to stab it,” He said lightly, leaning towards her. “The material is thin enough that the needle will go through easily. Let it glide through—here—” His fingers gently encased hers, guiding the needle.

Belle’s breath hitched. Rumplestiltskin’s fingers were warm and calloused, sending little rivulets of pleasure down her spine. He really had lovely hands, with long tapering fingers. She could no longer hear what he was saying; the only sensations she felt were his hands on her hands and his breath near her ear. He smelled like hay and leather. Her stomach flip-flopped.

“There.” His fingers fell away from hers, and Belle realized with great disappointment that the seam was closed. She turned her face towards his. 

“Thank you,” She said softly. His face was so close. She licked her lips nervously. 

“You’re welcome,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly. He made to move away from her and impulsively, she touched his slender fingers. 

He froze. Belle’s heart raced as she entwined her fingers through his. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing; all she knew was that she wanted him near her. Rumplestiltskin looked terribly nervous, his eyes flitting between their hands and her questioning eyes. I want him to kiss me, she thought, wishing he could hear her thoughts. She let go of his hand for a moment, to tentatively stroke his cheek, feeling the light stubble. He sucked in his breath sharply and Belle stared at him, hoping. 

“Papa! Belle! I’m back!”

The two sprang apart like they’d been burned. Baelfire tramped inside, shaking mud off his boots. 

“It’s raining,” He announced cheerfully. “Which is good! That means it’ll be clear tomorrow evening for the festival.” He blinked at Belle and Rumplestiltskin, who were studiously not looking at each other. 

“Everything okay?” Baelfire removed his cloak, still gazing at the pair curiously. Belle cleared her throat. 

“Just fine,” She stood smoothing her skirts. “You have good timing Bae, the candies should be ready by now.”

Baelfire perked up. “Candies?” He followed her and gasped delightedly at the sugar-coated sweets. 

“Here you are,” Belle said promptly, slicing a piece of the jellied tart and handing it to him. Baelfire bit into it with gusto. 

“It’s good!” He said happily. “Papa, come try some!” Rumplestiltskin agreeably joined them, accepting Belle’s proffered Turkish Delight. She watched him eagerly for his reaction. 

“I’ve never had anything like it,” Rumplestiltskin said finally, and Belle glowed with pleasure. “It’s delicious, Belle, thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Belle said with a bit of smugness. She giggled at Baelfire, whose face was now covered in icing sugar.

“Gracious, you’re a messy eater,” Belle took a dishrag and wetted it, wiping down Baelfire’s face. “You have more on you than you’ve eaten.” Baelfire tolerated her ministrations with a patient air, shrugging at her latter comment. 

“May I have another one?” Baeflire asked, eyeing the platter longingly. Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes. 

“Half of one,” He said firmly. “Then get to bed. We’ve a lot to do to prepare for the feast, so that means a lot of early morning chores.” Baelfire groaned good-naturedly. He took a very large ‘half’ of the tart and complacently strolled to the backroom, humming a rather bawdy tavern song. Belle giggled again, recognizing the tune and rather hoped Bae didn’t know the lyrics. 

“Well,” Rumplestitlskin said awkwardly. “I suppose I better turn in too…lot—lot to do tomorrow.” Belle deflated. She didn’t want him to disappear into the darkness of the house. She wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted exactly—but she knew that they were close to it, before Baelfire interrupted. She sighed. It just figured that after wishing for adventure and true love, she’d fall for the first man she met on her journey. 

She smiled at Rumplestiltskin. “Good night—oh!” She tried not to laugh when she noticed a bit of icing sugar at the corner of his mouth. “I think I know where Bae gets his eating habits,” She teased. 

Rumplestiltskin gave her a sheepish grin, swiping the wrong corner of his mouth. “No, no,” She corrected. “Other side.” He repeated the process but aimed far too low. 

“Here—” Belle leaned forward, reaching towards his mouth. She gently rubbed the sugar off with her thumb, noticing that he stiffened at her actions. Without thinking, she drew her thumb to her mouth, tasting the sweet flavor. She immediately regretted the action when she saw his eyes darken with something she didn’t quite recognize—anger? Annoyance? Perhaps he didn’t like being treated like a child. 

“Well,” She shuffled her feet and resolutely looked up at him. “Good night, Rumplestiltskin.” She leaned forward, intending on giving him a quick peck on the cheek. She was abruptly taken aback when his lips met hers. 

He was kissing her—he was kissing her. Belle was so shocked at this act of forwardness she forgot to react, to enjoy the warmth of his lips, the sudden speed of her heartbeat. Before she could respond with enthusiasm, he was backing away from her, looking absolutely horrified. 

“I—I’m sorry—” He stuttered, his cheeks high with color. “Forgive me, Belle—I—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” 

“No—wait—I—” Belle stammered when she regained her senses. “Rumplestiltskin…” It was too late. He’d bolted from the room leaving her alone with nothing but the shadows from the dying embers of the fire.


	6. Gruoch

AN: I estimate about four more chapters. Expect updates every Friday. I own nothing. I’ve been looking forward to writing this chapter!  
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Rumplestiltskin did not sleep that night. He tried to close his eyes and concentrate on the crickets chirping and Baelfire’s light breathing. But sleep proved impossible. He turned over, staring at the wall blankly. 

How could he have been so stupid? Had he lost his mind? He tried to find some semblance of logic in his actions but found none. He remembered the warm glow of the firelight, lagging behind to wish Belle a good night, her wide earnest blue eyes. She’d leaned towards him and he’d kissed her. 

What had he been thinking?!

He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. Rumplestiltskin, the man best known for caution and reviled for cowardice, the scared little mouse that crept from one shadow to another, had impulsively kissed the most beautiful woman in creation. 

He clenched his fists. He was disgusting. She was half his age and perfect, it was no wonder she’d frozen. He needed to beg her forgiveness, swear he’d not go near her again, and grovel at her feet. But the idea of facing Belle was terrifying. Swallowing his dry mouth, he got up, trying not to wake Baelfire. Unfortunately, Bae was a very light sleeper.

“Papa?” Baelfire murmured sleepily. “What are you doing?”

“Just going outside,” Rumplestiltskin mumbled. Baelfire rubbed his eyes and took in his father’s haggard appearance and guilty eyes. He frowned. 

“Is everything okay?” Baelfire whispered.

“Everything’s fine,” Rumplestiltskin lied. “Go back to sleep, son.” He slipped out of the backroom and out of the house, silent as a shadow, making a point not to even glance at Belle’s slumbering form as he exited.

He would sleep outside with the sheep. He’d behaved like an animal, it was a fitting punishment.

XXXXX

“Where’s your father?” Belle asked straight off when a yawning Baelfire joined the land of the living. 

“I don’t know,” Baelfire replied with heavy-lidded eyes. “Maybe with the sheep? Or in town? Didn’t he tell you before he left?” He poured himself a cup of tea and took a large gulp. 

“He didn’t,” Belle said with some distress. She sat at the table while Baelfire methodically buttered a slice of bread, oblivious to her unhappiness. She’d hoped she could speak with Rumplestiltskin, explain to him that she’d been surprised, not unwilling. But it seemed that he was avoiding her. But why? Was it just embarrassment?

A horribly cold feeling washed over her. Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t like her or that he didn’t think she liked him. Perhaps it was something else entirely. 

There was only one way to find out. She stood quickly, kissing Baelfire’s cheek goodbye and grabbing a basket. She was in such a rush she donned her expensive blue cloak rather than the old charcoal-colored wrap, forgetting the implications of wearing her finery. She hurried out the door. 

The sun was hidden behind opaque clouds and the wind was a little too sharp for the season. Belle pulled her cloak about her more warmly, thoughts swimming. So focused on her destination, she didn’t notice the stares she was earning.

She couldn’t quite recall where the apothecary was, so for a brief moment, she stood stock still, staring blankly at the stands and tents and shops about her. To her relief, she spotted Ciorstag, exiting a shop and locking it behind her. Belle hurried over. 

Ciorstag glanced at her. “Belle,” She acknowledged. “I’m afraid I’m closing up early today. Crispin is sick.”

“Oh,” Belle said, her heart sinking. Ciorstag watched her with interest.

“His mother has it well in hand,” She said finally. “I simply wanted to be available to them should they need me. Did you want something?”

“Well—if—if it’s not too much trouble,” Belle stumbled, twisting her fingers together. “I just—something happened and I was wondering if it—if—”

Ciorstag touched her shoulder. “Why don’t we have tea at my house?” She suggested. Belle nodded gratefully. 

Ciorstag lived in a small cottage on the other side of the village. A thin creek lazily wound its way around her yard and the cottage itself was surrounded by apple trees and strawberry bushes. Belle inhaled, smelling honeysuckle and sweet grass. She noticed a field behind the house and presumed that was where Ciorstag got most of her herbs. 

“It’s lovely,” Belle smiled, feeling her nervousness fall away. Ciorstag tilted her head in acknowledgement. 

“It’s been a good home,” She said presently. They entered the cottage and Belle’s senses were immediately assailed with the various smells of spices and herbs. Ciorstag set her sack down and went to stoke the embers in the fireplace. She hung a brass kettle over the growing flames and took a seat by the fire. Belle took this as a sign she could sit as well and joined her, unbuttoning her cloak. 

Ciorstag was the type of woman who could enjoy a comfortable silence, but the quiet bothered Belle, who fidgeted with the strings on her cloak. She was beginning to regret her rash decision in coming here, seeing as she barely knew Ciorstag, but she couldn’t think of a reasonable way out of the situation. So Belle squared herself and looked up from her fidgets. 

“Rumplestiltskin—” She started to say.

The kettle whistled. Ciorstag carefully removed it as she prepared the tea, choosing a sweet-smelling blend for them both. She poured herself and Belle a steaming cup and easily added milk but no sugar. Belle bit her lip in frustration. 

“You were saying,” Ciorstag said casually, inhaling the aroma heavily. 

“Rumplestiltskin kissed me,” Belle said pointblank. 

Ciorstag choked on her tea. She coughed for a good eight seconds or so, eyes watering. When the attack had passed, she gazed up at Belle. 

“My goodness,” She said with some degree of astonishment. “I must say, I did not expect him to kiss you.”

“Well—” Belle flushed. “He did.” She suddenly felt terribly awkward. To keep her hands busy, she added a plentiful amount of cream to her tea. 

“What a fascinating effect you’re having on him,” Ciorstag said interestedly. She took a long sip of her tea. “I take it you weren’t unwilling?”

“That’s the problem—I mean—I wasn’t unwilling, he just surprised me, and I wanted to explain that to him this morning, but he wasn’t there—I think he’s avoiding me…” Belle trailed off. 

“Well, a simple conversation ought to clear that misunderstanding up,” Ciorstag said carelessly. “It’s not hard to convince a man you want him. So what’s this really about, my dear?” 

Belle was quiet for moment. Ciorstag poured herself another cup of tea. Belle stared at her tea with a great deal of concentration. 

Ciorstag was just about to prompt her when Belle burst out, “Did he love her very much?”

Ciorstag’s eyebrows rose. “Love who?”

“His—his wife. Baelfire’s mother. Did he love her…very much?” Belle’s eyes were thick with guilt. She didn’t really have a right to feel concerned about this, but she couldn’t help her emotions. 

Ciorstag gave her a long, steady look. “Has Rumplestiltskin told you about Gruoch?”

Belle shook her head. “I asked Baelfire about her once, on our way back from honey gathering, but he told me he didn’t remember his mother and that Rumplestiltskin didn’t like talking about her. That it made him too sad.” Belle fiddled with a sugar spoon. 

Ciorstag drew a great sigh. “All right. It’s not fair for you to be in the dark since you’re already so involved, so I’ll tell you what I know of Gruoch, which unfortunately, is a great deal. I trust you’ll keep a quiet tongue and not go gossiping about this all over creation, the gods know Rumplestiltskin does not need more of that.” Belle nodded wordlessly. Ciorstag leaned back in her chair, making herself comfortable. 

“Now,” Ciorstag began. “I’ve known Rumplestiltskin since he was a child. His mother—the gods rest her soul—well, I was always fond of her, sweet little wisp of a thing. Rumplestiltskin gets a lot from her; both scared of their shadows. Not that I blame them, their father—well, it doesn’t matter.” She sighed musingly. Belle watched her, toying with the sugar spoon. 

“Rumplestiltskin…” Ciorstag closed her eyes. “He was a shy, quiet boy. Didn’t talk much, wasn’t rowdy like the other boys in the village. The other young men would get drunk in the evenings, visit the whorehouses…Rumplestiltskin stayed home with his mother, helping her spin and mend, as most of their money was frittered away by his drunk of a father.” Ciorstag scowled. Belle frowned too, thinking of her own father, who had always been kind and loving towards her, despite her engagement to Gaston. 

“As for Gruoch,” Ciorstag continued, pouring Belle another cup of tea. “She was a sweet, simple kind of girl. Pretty—not in your way, not so beautiful I think…” Belle reddened at this compliment. 

“But pretty in our way,” Ciorstag finished, despite Belle’s blush. “That is, pretty in an ordinary peasant way. She was the daughter of one of the farmers here, farmers that I was and am still acquainted with. Baelfire takes after her side of the family, I think…” Belle tried to picture her, imagining a petite young maid with Baelfire’s dark hair and eyes. 

“She was a good girl, always had a decent word for everyone,” Ciorstag hesitated. “And I—I thought she might be a good wife for Rumplestiltskin. They were both industrious, hard working…I suggested to Rumplestiltskin’s mother, as well as Gruoch’s family about arranging the match. Gruoch’s family was very poor, so they were happy to find someone willing to take her for such a small dowry…Rumplestiltskin’s parents were poorer still, so any dowry was a lucky thing…a date was set, and I felt so pleased with myself. Like a fool, I forgot an important thing…”

Belle waited, engrossed in Ciorstag’s words.

“I forgot to take Rumplestiltskin and Gruoch’s feelings into account,” Ciorstag swallowed, staring at the dregs in her teacup. “You must understand,” She hurriedly added. “Arranged marriages are still common today, but it seems to be the fashion in these times to marry for love…it wasn’t when I was young. Marriages were for starting families, for building alliances…never for love. It never even occurred to me to ask Rumplestiltskin and Gruoch if they wanted to marry.” 

Belle bit her lip. It may well have been the fashion to wed for love nowadays, but Belle still ardently believed it should be the primary reason for marriage. It was why she’d run away from Gaston. She didn’t love him. She wondered if Ciorstag would have empathy for Belle’s situation or merely think she was foolish and naïve. 

“I’ll never know what Rumplestiltskin’s thoughts on the matter were,” Ciorstag’s voice interrupted Belle’s thoughts. “He tends to keep his own counsel. Gruoch, however, was horrified. She begged her parents to reconsider, for she was in love with someone else. The blacksmith’s boy. She wanted to marry him.”

Belle sucked in her breath. 

“Her parents, however, refused to break off the engagement,” Ciorstag’s eyes were heavy. “Gruoch’s father was a proud, stubborn man, and he didn’t like the blacksmith’s son. Called him a wastrel who wouldn’t amount to anything. I’ve heard that the boy asked Gruoch to run off with him…but Gruoch couldn’t dishonor her parents. So she acquiesced to her parents’ wishes and married Rumplestiltskin.” 

“It…” Ciorstag wetted her lips. “The marriage—did not have a good start. Rumplestiltskin was very caring, very kind to her…I think he knew she didn’t want him; that she wanted someone else. But she barely spoke to him. Was cold and distant. He tried with her, he truly did…I remember him coming to me, asking me how to—” Ciorstag faltered, looking at Belle’s absorbed, young face. 

“Er—asking me how to please his wife,” She ended her statement, and Belle nodded blankly, so Ciorstag supposed Belle hadn’t understood what she meant. “But it didn’t make a difference. Gruoch had no interest in learning to love Rumplestiltskin. She also did not stop seeing the blacksmith’s boy.” Belle’s brow furrowed further at this revelation; despite her beliefs on marrying for love, Belle hated the idea of dishonoring a commitment. 

“Anyway,” Ciorstag’s eyes lifted to the ceiling, lost in memories. “One day, Gruoch came to my husband’s shop and asked to see me, specifically. Embarrassed, I suppose. She asked for a potion that would—that would return her cycle to her.” It took a moment for Belle to register what Ciorstag meant. Belle paled slightly. 

“I didn’t want to,” Ciorstag shuffled her feet. “But it’s not my business to tell a married woman what she should or shouldn’t do with her body. So I sold her the tonic and prayed to the gods that at least Rumplestiltskin knew.”

“I don’t know what happened after that,” Ciorstag glanced at the glowing embers. A sharp wind blew through the open window and Belle shivered, grateful for the warmth of the fire. “I don’t know if she changed her mind, or Rumplestiltskin begged her not to, or even if the tonic didn’t work. All I know is, that nine months later, Baelfire was born.” 

A rare smile appeared on Ciorstag’s weathered face. “Ah, Baelfire. He was a sweet little bairn, all dark and lovely. He came out laughing, I swear he did, and was feisty, joyful little thing. He coaxed smiles out of his cold mother and Rumplestiltskin loved him passionately. Still does, I’ll warrant. When Baelfire was born, I thought…I thought the two of them might have a chance to build a love together. I thought that the baby would bring them together. And I might’ve been right, but…” Ciorstag wilted like a flower in the heat. Belle’s brows furrowed further at the regret in Ciorstag’s eyes. 

“The Ogre wars,” Ciorstag said bitterly. “Ogres are not men. They are vicious, terrible, warlike creatures. The Duke of the frontlands—not the duke now, his father—drafted all of the men in our village to go to war. Every man of age was conscripted. Rumplestiltskin, the blacksmith’s boy, my husband…” Ciorstag’s large, gray eyes filled with tears. Belle started at this rare display of emotion. She reached across the table and squeezed Ciorstag’s hand. 

Ciorstag wiped her eyes brusquely. “Well. Rumplestiltskin is not a soldier. He was not meant for battle—not that that meant anything to the Duke. And, well…after an anguished few months of waiting for our husbands and sons…Rumplestiltskin returned, with a bleeding, useless leg. He also came back alone.”

Understanding dawned on Belle’s face. 

“Every one of our sons and husbands were killed in that battle…the battle Rumplestiltskin ran from. We hated him for it—even me. It was so unfair, that Rumplestiltskin was rewarded for his cowardice and got to come home to his wife and bairn, while our husbands and sons were rewarded with death. Most of us never forgave him for it.” Ciorstag drew a long breath. Belle’s blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“But he—he came home for his wife,” She said in a voice barely above a whisper. “And his son. He came home for them.”

Ciorstag shrugged. “I’m not arguing with you, dear. I forgave him a long time ago, especially considering the pain I’ve—the pain I’ve caused him, by arranging the match between him and Gruoch. But not many did. And no one hated him more than his wife.”

Belle’s head jerked upwards, eyes widening.

“Yes,” Ciorstag acknowledged her surprise. “Dear, the blacksmith’s boy did not return home either. And Gruoch took this very hard. His death destroyed her; shattered her soul. She could not even look at Rumplestiltskin. What was originally quiet disdain and silence became harsh words and cruelty. She no longer tolerated him, she reviled him. Nothing he did was right, she criticized and insulted his every action, hated and screamed at him, saying she wished he’d died instead of her love. Rumplestiltskin endured it, speaking to no one of it, but I knew. Everyone knew. Gruoch made no secret of her loathing.” 

“Oh, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle said sorrowfully, tears falling down her face. “Oh, poor Gruoch…”

“Yes,” Ciorstag agreed quietly. “And eventually, Gruoch’s body followed her heart. One evening, she stole a horse and galloped off. I suppose she intended on running away, but she didn’t even make it out of the village—the horse threw her and she hit her head. She died.” 

Belle’s tears fell faster, though she said nothing.

“Rumplestiltskin never forgave himself,” Ciorstag shifted in her seat. “Personally, I think raising Baelfire alone with the entire village despising him was penance enough—but I don’t think he ever saw it that way. He loathes himself, my dear.” She folded her knotted hands, tilting her head in consideration. 

“So to answer your previous question,” Ciorstag said haltingly. “No…I don’t think he did love her. He certainly cared for her—you can’t help caring for the mother of your child. He probably could have loved her if she allowed him to. But she never gave him that chance. In any case…he never looked at her the way he looks at you.”

Belle flushed at the turn in the conversation. “Oh, I don’t think—I don’t think he looks at me in any such way…” She mumbled, staring at her lap. 

Ciorstag rolled her eyes. “Gracious, you two are fools. Child, he looks at you like you’re the moon and stars, like he’s never seen anything like you. For the gods’ sake, he kissed you, and I can assure you, that’s never happened before. You bring out something in him, dear.” She tapped her fingers against her chin thoughtfully.

Belle lifted her head, looking at Ciorstag through her eyelashes. “You—you think so?” 

Ciorstag watched her carefully. “Think nothing. But what does it matter to you? Won’t you be leaving him soon?”

“I—I don’t know,” Belle said miserably. “I just—all I know is…well, I think I love him…” She blushed again, voicing her thoughts seemed to make them all the more real. “All I know is…I want to be with him. And—you should be with the one you love.”

Ciorstag gave her another penetrating stare. “Perhaps,” Ciorstag acknowledged crisply. “In any case, he won’t kiss you again.”

Belle deflated. “But—” 

“My dear, the only woman he’s ever been with gave him a cold bed and barely spoke to him on the best of days. He probably took your surprise as rejection, since that’s all he really knows. If you want him, you will have to go after him.” Ciorstag said promptly.

Belle buried her face in her hands. “Ciorstag, I don’t know how to do that!” She tried not to whine. “This isn’t exactly familiar territory for me!” 

Ciorstag looked as though she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Honestly, such complaints,” She said grouchily, standing. She ambled over towards a cupboard and pulled out a dusty bottle of wine. Belle’s eyes grew large. 

“I’m not much of a drinker,” She said hesitantly.

“Good,” Ciorstag replied, handing her the bottle. “It’ll relax you both. Tonight is the festival of the Reul Ghorm; Baelfire will be out with the children all night. Share a cup or two with him. You’ll know what to say when the moment comes to you.”

Belle licked her lips nervously, staring at the wine. “All right,” She acquiesced.


	7. The Feast of the Reul Ghorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has smut. Nothing traumatizing, just your basic vanilla smut. Dedicated to orientalbunny whose sweet messages helped get this beast done. Hope you all enjoy, thanks for your patience.

“Belle was looking for you,” Baelfire announced to his father. Rumplestiltskin had eventually meandered back towards the house, herding the sheep into their pen. He didn’t answer his son, keeping his eyes on the livestock. Baelfire frowned at this lack of reaction. 

“It sounded important,” He persisted. There was a tremor in Rumplestiltskin’s cheek but still he said nothing. 

Baelfire sighed impatiently. “Did you two have a fight?” Rumplestiltskin glanced at him, a little surprised at the question. 

“Because if you did,” Baelfire continued. “She probably wanted to apologize to you this morning…”

“She has nothing to apologize for,” Rumplestiltskin said without thinking. Baelfire stared at him, waiting for further explanation. He didn’t get any. Rumplestiltskin latched the pen and wiped his brow. 

“Well,” Baelfire huffed, kicking a stone in annoyance. “When she gets back to the village, then you can talk to her.”

Rumplestiltskin’s head jerked up. “She went to the village alone?”

Baelfire nodded. Rumplestiltskin’s brows knitted in worry. If she’d wanted to go to the village, why hadn’t she asked him to—oh. He cursed his cowardice. Because he was too busy hiding from her. He was such a filthy weakling. He was half-tempted to run to the village and seek her out, but fretted that asking for her would alert her presence too much. Before he could think of a plan, Baelfire exclaimed,

“There she is, papa!”

Rumplestiltskin swiveled to see Belle ambling up towards them, a slight smile on her face. Her hood was drawn but to Rumplestiltskin’s chagrin, she was wearing her fine blue cloak, the one that announced her as nobility. Baelfire trotted towards her, embracing her warmly. 

“Don’t go to the village alone again, Belle,” Baelfire scolded her. “Papa was worried about you.”

Belle’s cheeks tinged pink. “I’m sorry,” She said a little breathlessly. “I just wanted to—pick up something.” She held up a slightly dusty bottle of wine. 

“Wow, what’s that?” Baelfire asked interestedly, reaching for it. Belle laughed as she swatted his hands away. 

“You’ll have plenty of sweets at the feast tonight,” She admonished him lightly. “It’s just some wine. I don’t really feel up to going out and dancing with the rest of the village, so I thought I might coerce your father into sharing a bottle with me.” She smiled at Rumplestiltskin. 

He stared at her. What was she on about? He’d been terribly brazen last night and rather than shrinking from him, she’d brought home a bottle of wine? The faintest glimmer of hope flickered through him—that perhaps—just perhaps—his attentions weren’t unwanted. He shook the thought away firmly. There was no sense in wishing in fruitless dreams. 

Baelfire grinned. “That’s a good idea, Belle. Papa never sleeps during the Feast of the Reul Ghorm, you can keep him company.” 

Rumplestiltskin glanced between the two of them uncertainly. He cleared his throat. 

“All right, Bae, inside, son,” He said finally. “We’ve a lot to get done before you leave.” 

XXXXXX

Baelfire loved the feast. He tried to contain his excitement, knowing how his father would worry, but he couldn’t help it. There was nothing like running about the forest with his closest friends, chasing fireflies, pretending to be a ghoul. The brisk night was a perfect setting. Most of the villagers had spent the majority of the day placing torches along the forest paths and preparing the bonfires in front of the houses. Baelfire could not wait to see the forest and village all lit up in the firelight. It would be magnificent.   
Baelfire also looked forward to leaving his father alone with Belle.

He was no fool. He knew from the beginning that the chances of Belle and his father falling in love were slim. He’d tried very hard not to become attached to Belle, but of course, that was impossible. Belle was pretty, kind, fun, and nurturing, the kind of woman Baelfire had always dreamed of having for a mother. 

Still, Baelfire had given his father and Belle a great deal of scrutiny. As of late…just perhaps, there could be a chance. 

He could tell his father was enamored. Rumplestiltskin had never smiled, never laughed as he did now. Despite his initial nervousness, he was perfectly at ease with her—something about her gentility and serene nature relaxed him. 

Belle however, was a different story. Baelfire knew that a pretty maiden like Belle could have any man she wanted. Most of the ballads and stories he loved involved the princess falling in love with a knight, or a handsome prince, or a daring farm boy. Meek spinners didn’t have a place in the old tales. Still, Baelfire fiercely believed that his father deserved a princess. But that was for naught if the princess didn’t love him back…

However, Belle seemed to have a fondness for his father. At first, Baelfire had thought it was just a passing tenderness for someone who’d given her shelter. But courtesy and kindness did not extend to the way she looked at him now, eyes shining, lips slightly parted, as they ate a quiet dinner together. She visibly brightened whenever Rumplestiltskin spoke and she seemed to delight in hearing his laughter. Baelfire noticed her flush when their fingers brushed as she served them a savory lamb stew. 

Maybe, just maybe, Belle didn’t want a prince. Maybe Belle could understand what made Baelfire’s father so special and love him the way Gruoch never could. Baelfire wasn’t naïve to the fate of his mother; he’d heard the rumors and gossip about his parents’ marriage. Belle had asked him about his mother once, and he’d skirted the question, afraid the story would paint his parents in a poor light. He never faulted his mother for leaving him, because he believed that heartbreak was enough to destroy even the strongest of souls. 

The Feast of the Reul Ghorm was the perfect chance for Belle and Rumplestiltskin to be alone together. When the sun set, Baelfire knew where his first stop would be—the Reul Ghorm’s glen, to leave her a small offering and ask for her blessing. Maybe her magic would bring his father and Belle together. 

“All right, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin said as Belle cleared the supper dishes. “You remember what I told you.”

“Yes, papa,” Baelfire tried not to roll his eyes. “The same thing as last year! Stay close to the group, stay on the lit path, don’t wander off by myself, if I see wolves to run home.”

“Good,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly. “And you’re to return right at dawn. Not a moment later.” 

“Yes, papa,” Baelfire nodded obediently. Belle finished wiping down the table and retrieved a wool cloak from the back room. She placed it around Baelfire’s shoulders.

“Bundle up,” She advised, stroking his cheek lovingly. “It will get cool in the woods at night.” Baelfire grinned at her and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Laughing, she tousled his dark hair and stood, leading Baelfire to the doorway.

“Bye Belle, bye papa,” Baelfire waved cheerfully. “Love you both! See you at dawn!” He tramped out into the dying light, following the hoots and hollers of the other children.

XXXXXX 

A soft, warm smile spread across Belle’s face at Baelfire’s farewell. It had been an offhand goodbye, but Belle had heard him say he loved her. That this sweet, kind boy felt that kind of affection towards her nearly brought her to tears. It made her long, once again, to be a part of this family, this quiet, safe place that she loved. 

She glanced at Rumplestiltskin, whose eyes were fixed upon his son’s disappearing form. She bit her lip nervously, wishing Ciorstag had given her a little more advice on what to do. She wanted to be with him, wanted to show him how she felt but when her thoughts tried to stray farther, she became embarrassed and shy. She hoped Ciorstag was right about the wine. 

“What now?” Belle asked Rumplestiltskin with a smile. She watched him gaze at her anxiously. She rather hoped he wouldn’t bring up last night’s kiss, or worse, apologize for it. But apparently, Rumplestiltskin didn’t quite have the nerve to do so. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Well,” He scratched the back of his neck. “I usually—if it’s warm—start a bonfire outside the house. Watch the sunset.”

“Drink some wine?” Belle invited, gesturing towards the dusty bottle, still patiently sitting on the table. 

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head. “I suppose so…although, I’ve never had company before.”

“Ah,” Belle’s eyes sparkled. “Would you feel up to breaking that tradition?” 

He cracked a smile. “I think I could be amenable to that.” 

It didn’t take long to start the blaze. Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin had already prepared a pile of firewood for just that purpose, so it was only a matter of arranging the wood and setting it aflame. Once it was burning properly, Belle dragged over two heavy stones for them to sit on. She also brought a few books. 

They hadn’t had a proper reading lesson in a while, so they very contentedly started a new book, Belle patiently guiding him, one finger running along the page. 

“A s-soldier’s a man,” Rumplestiltskin slowly read. “O, man’s life’s but a spam…”

Belle couldn’t help but giggle. “Span,” She corrected gently. 

“Damn it,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled. “Damn ‘n’s and ‘m’s look the same…”

“You’re still doing really well,” Belle told him honestly. “I’m proud of you. I think you’ll be reading faster than me, soon.” 

“I doubt that,” Rumplestiltskin snorted, closing the book. The two sat in silence, watching the evening turn to a pale blue twilight. Belle sighed a little, deciding to uncork the bottle of wine. She poured a plentiful amount into two wooden cups, handing the first to Rumplestiltskin. He accepted it with a small smile, taking a heavy drink.

Belle tasted it. She’d never been much of a wine drinker—or any kind of drinker, to begin with. But to her surprise, Ciorstag’s wine was sweet and rich, with the barest hint of strawberries tickling her tongue. She finished her first cup quickly and poured herself another. 

“Do you like it?” She asked hopefully. Rumplestiltskin inclined his head in acknowledgement, so Belle poured him a second cupful. Ciorstag was right; the wine did seem to relax her. She felt its headiness sink into her bones, loosening her muscles and fuzzing her brain rather nicely. 

In the distance, they watched more bonfires being lit. Belle heard the light strains of merry music beginning to swarm the village and spread throughout the countryside. She smiled at the figures, dancing to the music, taking another light sip of wine. 

“Do you ever join them?” She gestured with her cup towards the circle of people, singing along with the music. 

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “I told you, I’m not much of a dancer,” He glanced at his leg wryly. 

“Not even to watch?” Belle asked as he took a long sip. 

He shook his head again. “I wouldn’t want to ruin their fun with my presence,” He said softly, sorrow doing a new dance across his features. Belle thought of Ciorstag’s words, how the village had never forgiven him. 

Deciding, she stood, placing her cup down. She smiled at Rumplestiltskin, offering her hand. “Stand up.”

Blinking at her, he obeyed. 

“Could I have this dance sir,” Belle asked grandly, giving him an extravagant curtsy. 

Rumplestiltskin let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a laugh. “Belle—I can’t…” He said helplessly, hand gripping his staff. 

“Nonsense,” Belle declared. She gave him another bright smile, lifting his right palm towards hers. She touched her hand to his, and he lowered his head in a light bow while she did the same. Listening to the far off music, she twirled around him, her feet kicking in the familiar steps of one of her favorite dances. Rumplestiltskin began to laugh as she continued to dance around his still form, skirts twirling about. He extended his arm and she took it, spinning out away from him, humming along with the music. 

She spun towards him, and he caught her with both arms. She felt her heart began to pound, although for the first time, (perhaps due to the wine) she was no longer unsure and fearful. Belle gazed at him, lightly touching his chest with her fingertips. 

His arms, still around her from the one-sided dance, remained paused on her figure. “You are a marvel,” He murmured in wonder. 

Belle wetted her lips to speak. “Rumplestiltskin,” She whispered. She noticed the pressure of his fingers on her forearms increase the barest fraction. Before she could finish her statement a cold gust of wind whipped about the two, causing her to shiver in his grasp. He dropped his arms and her heart sank. 

“We—we should go inside,” Rumplestiltskin said, turning away from her. Belle sighed but followed suit, picking up the bottle and their cups while he kicked dirt to staunch the fire.

They entered the house. The embers at the hearth were still glowing from dinner, and Belle gratefully stoked them, as the house was getting chilly in the night air. She knelt, glancing at the contents of the bottle. 

“There’s enough for two more cups,” She offered. 

Rumplestiltskin hesitated. “Aren’t you tired?” He asked nervously.

“Not a bit,” Belle affirmed cheerfully. “Bae said you never sleep during the Feast. I promised to keep you company, didn’t I?” She beckoned for him to join her. 

He paused for one more moment before finally joining her, awkwardly stretching out his bad leg so he didn’t put any weight on it. Belle poured the rest of the wine into their cups and toasted him with a warm smile. 

They sat in companionable silence, listening to the crickets sing though the open window, and the fire crackle merrily. Belle savored her wine contentedly, before Rumplestiltskin finally spoke, breaking her out of her dreamy reverie. 

“Why did you go to the village this morning?”

Belle sipped thoughtfully, concentrating on the light taste of strawberries and the lovely streams of relaxation that seemed to flow through her veins. “I went to see Ciorstag,” She revealed.

Rumplestiltskin froze. “C-Ciorstag,” He stammered, thinking in terror the thousands of things Ciorstag could’ve told Belle. “Why did you go to her?” 

Belle considered the question. “I wanted her advice,” She said finally. “And she gave me it, as well as the wine we’re enjoying.” 

“I—I see,” Rumplestiltskin looked about ready to down his drink and hide in the back room for the rest of the night, no matter what Belle said about keeping him company. “Advice…advice about what?”

Belle’s cheeks reddened. She took a final swallow of her wine, emboldening her nerve.

“I wanted to know,” She stated clearly. “What I could do to get you to kiss me again.”

XXXXXX

A log from the fire shifted, causing sparks to fly up between the two. Belle barely noticed the noise, eyes fixed upon the spinner. Rumplestiltskin was not aware of it either, too busy wondering if he’d heard wrong—or if he was dreaming. Perhaps he was drunk…but he’d only had a few cups of mild wine, certainly not enough to warrant hallucinations… 

Belle was looking at him, waiting for a response. 

He could only manage out, “You—you asked her…?”

Belle’s smile could have lit up the room. “More or less. She said—that you wouldn’t kiss me again, because you would have some silly idea in your head that I didn’t want you.” 

Rumplestiltskin could only stare at her. 

She reached towards him, taking his hand. “But I do,” She said softly. “I do want you.” She leaned towards him, her other hand coming to rest at the side of his face. 

At this, Rumplestiltskin regained some semblance of sanity. “Belle—no,” He averted her touch but couldn’t seem to manage the willpower to draw his hand away. “I’m…I’m not at all right for you, love.”

“Yes, you are,” Belle said stubbornly.

“I’m old enough to be your father,” He tried to bark out a laugh but only ended up sounding like he had a bad cough. 

“That doesn’t matter to me.” She began to caress his weathered hand with her thumb. 

She was making a mistake. Desperately, Rumplestiltskin gripped her hand earnestly. “Belle, love, you’re young, beautiful, and clever. There are better men for you…younger, braver, richer…men who deserve your attentions and affections.”

“I don’t want them.” She drew her hand up towards his face again. This time, he couldn’t bear to stop her. She was closer to him; he could feel the warmth of her body and the soft brush of her breath against his face. 

“You deserve a knight in shining armor, as those old ballads say,” He whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, trying one more time to convince her to come to her senses.

“I had a knight in shining armor,” Belle whispered back. “I want you.”  
At this, Rumplestiltskin had no choice but to close his eyes as she kissed him.

XXXXX

Belle had been kissed before. At sixteen, Gaston had given her a short, awkward kiss at the announcement of her engagement. It had been brief, wet, and altogether dull. At eighteen, he’d given her a deeper kiss in the library, which she’d accepted only due to curiosity. She remembered feeling greatly disappointed. In every romance she’d ever read, true love’s kiss had been described as something incredible, wonderful—something indescribable. Gaston’s kiss in the library had been better than her first, but it was still not what she’d hoped for. There were no sparks of desire, no longing; she did not feel as though she’d been lifted into the clouds.

She’d begun to believe that her books were wrong. 

But when her lips touched Rumplestiltskin’s, she realized that the love stories were right.   
His lips were soft and firm and he tasted of wood smoke and honey. He kissed her gently enough, but it still seemed to send her senses reeling and her heart racing. 

She paused the kiss for half a moment to gauge his reaction, pressing her forehead to his. His eyes were still closed as she pulled away lightly and she couldn’t help her smile.

Belle leaned into him, capturing his lips again. His hands came to her face, cradling her cheeks tenderly. She ran her tongue along his lower lip and experimentally teased it. She felt him inhale sharply and suddenly he was kissing her deeply, almost frantically, one arm pulling her against his chest, wrapping itself around her waist. Their teeth clanked together as he awkwardly tried to match his lips to her small mouth. She giggled, giving him a quick kiss on his nose before returning to his lips.

When their tongues met, Belle heard him make a strange little noise, somewhere between a groan and a gasp. She decided she liked the sound, and began to explore his mouth, loving the taste of him. Gaston’s kisses had never been this appealing or this delicious for that matter. She was nearly on his lap, determined to seek out every taste of smoke and honey she could find, twisting her fingers in his hair. His hair was softer than she’d imagined.

This was better than the wine and far more intoxicating. She hummed against him contentedly, the kiss slowing down. He tentatively took control of the kiss, slowly entwining his fingers in her dark curls, his tongue stroking against her own, his hands sliding up and down her sides. She was beginning to feel dizzy, the mixing sensations overwhelming and consuming her. 

They broke apart, each breathing heavily. Belle had somehow ended up completely on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. She laughed again, gazing into Rumplestiltskin’s fevered eyes. She was beginning to understand the dark, headiness in his brown eyes. He wanted her. He desired her. The realization made her stomach flutter and something warm coil in her abdomen. She kissed him again, trailing town to his jaw. Her lips found his pulse-point and she felt his heartbeat leap at her touch and his breath quicken.  
Encouraged, she continued down his neck, flicking her tongue out occasionally to taste the salty sheen of his skin. When she nibbled his earlobe, she felt him jerk, and he pulled away from her. 

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was coming out in short, heavy breaths and he was astutely looking down, away from her. “We—we should stop…”

“I don’t want to stop,” Belle said boldly. 

“Yes—but—we should,” He said rather desperately, his fingers running through her hair, as if to distract himself. Belle frowned. 

“I disagree,” She returned, going back to tasting his neck. She paused in her ministrations. “Unless—unless you don’t want me…”

He laughed hoarsely. “Don’t want you? It’s—because I want you, sweet. But—we should—we should wait…” She shifted on his lap, feeling something warm and hard—oh. Belle flushed, pleased to feel this physical proof. 

She watched him, her eyes filled with tenderness. She raised her hand to his cheek, her fingers ghosting over his lips. He impulsively caught her hand, kissing her fingertips. She felt the delightful heat spread into her belly and she knew with wondrous and 

impassioned realization, that she desired him, loved him, wanted him. 

“I don’t want to wait,” Belle said softly and it seemed her words undid him. He melted into her, their kisses becoming more and more fervent. 

XXXXX

Rumplestiltskin knew he should stop. He didn’t deserve to feel her sweet lips, her fingers carding his hair, and he certainly did not warrant the captivated heat in her blue eyes. But she was pressing harder against him, moaning into his mouth, the sensation of her hot kisses against his neck making his senses sing. She tasted like strawberries and rain, sweet and fresh and perfect. He craved her like oxygen and it was shorting out his mind, taking away all reason. 

Somehow, they ended up sprawled on the ground, the blankets she usually slept on providing a soft barrier against the hard floor. He was half on top of her, her hands running up and down his back and digging into his skin when he cautiously nipped her lower lip. She was arching against him, and it was all he could do to keep from rutting against her like an animal. He was losing control quickly. 

He broke away from her, gasping. “Belle, we should—” But apparently Belle had grown tired of his weak protests, using the front of his shirt to pull him back down towards her welcoming mouth. 

He froze when her hands slipped under his shirt, touching his chest, stroking, grazing him with her nails. He groaned into her chestnut hair. He was so very out of his depth. He wanted so badly to please her, to make her feel every blessed thing he was feeling. 

The only other woman he’d ever been with had been his wife. In the early years of their marriage, he’d bent over backwards trying to make her happy, giving her gentle caresses and kisses, whispering sweet endearments in her ear. He’d even gone to Ciorstag—as mortifying as that was—to ask how to pleasure his wife. It hadn’t made much of a difference. No matter the encounter, Gruoch had remained stock-still, fists clenched, eyes tightly closed. She’d rebuffed him when he tried anything else. 

But Belle was not Gruoch. She had never once looked at him with disdain or dull apathy, returning his kisses, ignoring him every time he tried to halt their proceedings. She cared for him. She desired him, as impossible as it was. And with every kiss, with every touch, he was finding it harder to fight her. 

“Gods, Belle,” He hissed against her skin and she gave him that beautiful smile, the one she reserved especially for him, tinted with mischief and warmth. He began to return the favor, kissing her pale throat, licking and nipping down to her collarbone. He felt her shiver against his body. 

She stopped him for a moment, reaching towards the laces of her dress. Rumplestiltskin watched, transfixed as she slowly unlaced the front, the cloth easily falling away, pulling aside her light shift, and revealing round and perfect breasts. Her cheeks tinged pink, but her expression was adoring and amorous. She bit her lip invitingly. 

Rumplestiltskin raised a trembling hand to touch but faltered, afraid to touch with his rough and clumsy fingers. With a sweet laugh, she took his hand, pressing it to palm her breast. He exhaled sharply, hands curling around her. He watched her eyes flutter at his touch. Hesitantly, he kissed her throat, grazing it lightly with his teeth. He cupped her breast, squeezing gently and Belle moaned, arching towards him. Sighing with relief, he lowered his head to kiss her breast the same way he had her neck, worrying her nipple with his teeth, carefully listening for any signs of displeasure or discomfort. She gave none, except another one of her beautiful breathy little moans, fingers tugging on his hair. 

He pressed more open-mouthed kisses to the valley of her breasts, performing a similar treatment to the other. He laved this nipple with his tongue, shivering as it pebbled. He slowly trailed down to her white belly, leaving hot kisses to each exposed bit of flesh, loving how she shuddered against his mouth and pulled at his hair.

Belle was pulling on his shirt—why was she—he realized that she wanted him to take it off. Swallowing hard he sat up, and obeyed her direction. Her eyes brightened as he shoved it off of, nervously avoiding her gaze. She sat up towards him, placing her hand on his chest, letting her fingers dance across, lightly sliding through the sparse hair. She traced swirls and circles up and down, watching with heat as he shook at her touch. She kissed again, arms encircling his back and he melted into her. 

XXXXX

Belle rocked her hips against him and he gasped, gripping her harder, his kisses becoming more impassioned. His lips were against her breasts again and she cried out, feeling as though electricity had shot through her veins. She wanted him closer, as close as possible, but her skirts were getting in the way. Impatiently, she unbuttoned the rest of her dress, sliding out of it and pushing it away from her. She was left only in a white shift, practically transparent. 

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes seem to range from awe to ravenous hunger, and Belle blushed. She had never undressed in front of a man and although his eyes far from shamed her, she was still nervous. Still, thoughts of propriety had fled from her mind long ago. 

They still seemed to plague Rumplestiltskin however, because he swallowed hard. “Belle,” He said hoarsely. “We…it’s not…”

“It’s all right,” She whispered, pulling him towards her. “I want to. Please.” Perhaps it was wrong. But all Belle could think was that she needed to be with the one she loved.

He licked his lips, eyes flicking away from her. He looked terribly unsure and it made Belle’s heart swell with love for him.

“I want to be with you,” She said quietly. “I do. Please.” 

XXXXXX

At first, Rumplestiltskin was at a loss for what to do next. He was literally throbbing for her, wanted nothing more than to lose himself within her. He’d never desired a woman so ardently before. But more than anything else, he wanted to bring her to heights of pleasure, wanted her to choke his name. He just wasn’t completely sure how to go about it. 

A fleeting memory of something Ciorstag had told him long ago flew through his mind. Hesitantly, he brought his trembling fingers to her legs, sliding her skirts aside to touch the soft skin beneath. He drew his fingers upwards as he brushed his lips against hers. When he reached her inner thighs, he stopped.

He stared at her, waiting for her permission. She gave him a tiny, imperceptible nod, her blue eyes shining with both trust and nervousness. He would not, could not let her down. 

Carefully, he stroked her, the tips of his fingers barely grazing over her curls, slowly moving lower. She watched him with scorching intent, and Rumplestiltskin nearly groaned aloud when he felt the dampness of her folds. She truly did desire him and the thought was enflaming. He pressed deeper, searching for her core. 

When his fingers found the small bud of nerves, he felt her flinch beneath him, and quickly realized how sensitive she was. He backed off for a moment, fingers exploring her depths, then returning to circle her core without touching directly. This time, she moaned, arching into him. He continued his motions, seeking out what made her cry out, cautiously sliding two fingers into her, biting his lip at her tight heat. 

She was panting and her fingers were raking down his chest, the pain a welcome distraction from his pounding erection. He realized he’d been putting a great deal of weight on his bad leg without even noticing—he would pay for that come morning. 

Focusing, with two fingers, he began to circle her core once again, ever so slightly stroking against her. This time, she jerked against him, keening like a cat, a flood of moisture beginning to drench his fingers. She kissed him hard, savagely biting his lower lip, as he paused on her core. She bucked into his hand, crying out, a noise that Rumplestiltskin knew he would hear in his dreams forever. He crooked his fingers within her and she shuddered violently, giving another beautiful cry, sobbing out her pleasure. 

He removed his hand from her, kissing her passionately. She smiled at him dazedly, her hands reaching towards the laces of his breeches. 

Rumplestiltskin swallowed again. “We don’t have to—”

She pressed her fingers against his lips. “I told you. I want to.” His mouth dry, he nodded and began to remove his breeches, watching Belle out of the corner of his eye. She was removing her shift and was gloriously naked, all smooth curves and pale skin. She was so incredibly beautiful Rumplestiltskin couldn’t breathe, his mental faculties completely gone. She smiled at him shyly and her arms reached out. He fell into her embrace clumsily and she giggled as she pressed light kisses to his chest. 

XXXXX

He pushed into her too eagerly and Belle gasped at the unfamiliar pain. He froze immediately, eyes afraid.

“I’m okay,” She whispered, tenderly brushing a strand of brown hair from his face. “Don’t stop.”

Rumplestiltskin broached her more carefully, stopping whenever he saw pain on her face, giving her tiny sipping kisses whenever her brow wrinkled. Belle concentrated on the contoured angles of his chest, the gold flecks in his eyes as she struggled to accommodate him. She kissed him deeply. After all of her worries, all this time, he was with her. She wrapped her legs around his calves, focusing on simply breathing, listening to his rapid heartbeat. 

“Am I hurting you?” He whispered agitatedly. 

Belle shook her head, smiling happily. The pain hadn’t lasted long and the thought that she was giving her most intimate self to this man, the man she loved, comforted and soothed her. The tension began to leave her and she began to relax into him, rocking against him. 

He followed suit, moving slowly within her, his strokes easy and gentle. She gave kissed the sides of his throat, nipping and sucking. 

All at once, Belle gasped, a sliver of pleasure shooting within her like lightning. Rumplestiltskin looked at her with alarm and moved to withdraw. She wrapped her legs around his waist to stop him, pulling him deep within her. This time, Rumplestiltskin let out a choked gasp. 

“Keep going,” Belle whispered into his ear. “Harder…”

He increased the pace of his rhythm, encouraged by her sobbing breaths and delighted moans. She ran her hands up and down his back, her feet kneading little circles into his lower back. She sunk her teeth into his clavicle and he shouted hoarsely, his thrusts becoming deeper and more demanding. All at once, he jerked erratically and she felt a sudden rush of heat within her. She wrapped his arms around him lovingly, pressing kisses to his jaw-line.

For a moment, they lay there, tangled in each others’ arms, his face buried in her hair. Then Rumplestiltskin grabbed one of the blankets near the hearth and wrapped it around the two of them. Belle snuggled into him, pillowing her head against his chest and closing her eyes. 

“Are you cold?” He asked her worriedly.

“No,” She sighed dreamily. 

“Are you in pain?”

She shook her head sleepily. 

“You’re sure…you’re sure you’re okay?”

Belle opened one eye. “I’m perfect,” She murmured. “I’m happy. I…I love you.”

He was suddenly very still but to Belle’s fatigued mind, it didn’t seem to matter. She closed her eyes again, feeling sated and safe in her lovers’ arms, and fell asleep.

Rumplestiltskin, however, did not sleep a wink.


	8. The Wish

The night waned on, the bonfires outside the villages slowly burned down to embers and the dancing villagers eventually retreated into their homes. The only constant was the wild cries and laughter of the children in the forest, occasionally turning into songs about the Reul Ghorm. 

For Rumplestiltskin, sleep was impossible. Not when an angel lay contentedly in his arms, a soft smile gracing her features. Occasionally, he’d brush a chestnut curl off of her cheek, and Belle would sigh, nuzzling into his chest. His left arm quickly fell asleep from its stationary position wrapped around her. Despite the discomfort, he had no urge to move. He wanted this moment to last forever. 

Because it couldn’t…it could never be forever…

He thought back to her quiet murmur hours ago. “I’m happy. I…I love you.” His heart clenched at the memory, split between anguished longing and denial. It was impossible. She couldn’t love him. She was beautiful and perfect and he was wretched and weak. She could never want him for always, no matter how ardently he wished it. She would leave him, eventually. Just as Gruoch did. 

The birds began to chirp and Rumplestiltskin noticed the night beginning to lighten. Baelfire would be home soon. 

He didn’t want to wake her, not when she looked so peaceful and lovely in his arms. But he also didn’t want his son to discover the two of them, naked on the middle of the floor. 

Rumplestiltskin stroked her cheek tenderly. “Belle,” He said softly. “Belle, love, wake up.”

She hummed sleepily. Stifling a laugh, he repeated his action, gently running a finger down her cheek. “Belle. Waken up, dear.”

Belle opened her deep blue eyes and yawned. A warm smile slowly appeared on her face as she took him in, and it nearly broke his heart. 

“Good morning,” Belle murmured. 

“Morning,” He managed to say back to her and she smiled again, shifting in his arms to kiss him more easily, a kiss Rumplestiltskin couldn't help but return enthusiastically. She bit her lip when she pulled away and smiled, looking almost embarrassed at where they’d ended up. She yawned again.

“What time is it?” Belle asked, rubbing her heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Nearly dawn,” He answered, glancing out the open window. The pink rays of dawn were just barely beginning to permeate the cool morning. 

“Too early,” Belle mumbled, settling back into his arms again. “Much too early. Let’s sleep.” She closed her eyes.

“No, no,” Rumplestiltskin stifled a laugh, trying to sit up despite her weight. “Bae will be home soon.”

Belle opened one eye and giggled. “Right.” She stretched luxuriously, giving Rumplestiltskin a pleasant eyeful and groped for her clothes. 

In a few moments, they’d both dressed. Rumplestiltskin stoked the fire and Belle prepared the tea, hunting through their cupboards for a proper breakfast. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but sneak glances at her as she worked. She caught him looking and her smile brightened. 

“You know,” She said, placing the kettle on the fire. “We should…we should talk.” 

Rumplestiltskin swallowed, his heart sinking. “Yes,” He agreed heavily. “I think we need to…” 

Belle’s smile faltered at Rumplestiltskin’s tone. She watched him cross the room wincing as he limped. She opened her mouth to question him but seemed to lose her nerve halfway there. Instead, she asked, “Is your leg all right?”

He grimaced. His leg was positively throbbing. It had not taken their evening well, what with sleeping on the hard ground and he’d put far too much weight on it during…their activities. The rest of the day would not be pleasant. 

“I’ll live,” He managed a pained smile. Knitting her brows together, Belle went to the cupboards and took out the jar of salve they’d purchased at the apothecary. She went towards him, bidding him to sit down.

He licked his lips. “You don’t have to—”

“We bought it, we might as well use it,” Belle said practically, uncapping it. The salve smelled of peppermint and spice. She sat next to him on the hearth, pulling his leg onto her lap and rolling up the hem of his breeches to his knee. Rumplestiltskin averted his eyes. He hated having her so close to his lame leg, gruesome with its scarred flesh, twisting all the way up to his knee. But Belle paid it no heed, busily spreading the salve over her palms and beginning to massage his leg. 

The salve felt heavenly. It didn’t take away the pain, but it cooled the red-hot throbbing, dulling it. Belle’s hands were gentle and he stared at her enraptured as she finished, rubbing and soothing as best she could. Memories of their previous night danced through his mind and he couldn’t help a half-smile as her fingers caressed his leg, sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. When he noticed her cheeks tinge pink, he wondered if she was remembering the same thing.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed. It didn’t make a difference. He pulled his leg off of her lap with a mumbled word of thanks. Belle’s brow furrowed. 

“Rumplestiltskin—” Belle started to say. 

“Papa! Belle! I’m home!” Rumplestiltskin’s head jerked up at his son’s voice. Belle sighed, sensing that her lover wasn’t quite ready to tell his son about the two of them.

Baelfire trotted inside, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. He looked tired and well-satisfied, dirt smudging his cheeks and leaves stuck in his dark hair. Belle laughed at the sight of him. 

“Good morning, Bae,” She greeted, pulling the leaves out of his hair. “Did you have a good time?”

“It was wonderful, Belle,” Baelfire assured her eagerly. “I had so much fun. Crispin, Drosdan and I played ghosts in the churchyard, and I won three times! Then we teamed up with the girls—my friend Morraine was there—and we raced each other to the Reul Ghorm’s glen. I can’t believe the night’s over, it went so fast!” 

“Are you tired?” Rumplestiltskin asked his son. 

“A little,” Baelfire yawned. “Is it all right if I have a bit of breakfast and then sleep for a while?” Most of the parents allowed their children to nap until the midday break after the festivities were over. This was why Rumplestiltskin had had so much work to do the day before, so Bae could have that time to rest.

“Of course,” Rumplestiltskin nodded towards his son and Baelfire buttered a slice of bread.

“Did you two have a nice time here?” Baelfire asked, eyeing Rumplestiltskin and Belle slyly. 

Belle resisted the urge to chuckle at the slight spots of color on Rumplestiltskin’s cheeks. “Yes, we did,” She said rather blandly and Rumplestiltskin kept his eyes on his tea. 

“Actually,” Belle said, an idea striking her. “While you sleep, I think your father and I were going to go for a walk.” 

Rumplestiltskin glanced at her, confused. She returned his puzzlement with a sunny smile. It was time they spoke, and Belle had a fairly good idea of what to say.   
The corners of Baelfire’s lips twitched but he said nothing, taking a large bite of his breakfast. 

XXXXX 

When Baelfire curled up on his pallet in the backroom and quickly fell asleep, Belle took Rumplestiltskin’s arm and led him outside. The morning was still pale, unusually quiet due to most of the villagers sleeping off the night’s festivities. Rumplestiltskin followed Belle into the cool shade of the forest, silent save for the birds’ chirping and the squirrels’ chattering. 

“I love this forest,” Belle sighed, breaking the stillness. She paused in the middle of a glade, picking a clump of lilacs from a bush.

“Why?” Rumplestiltskin asked her. 

“Well,” She pondered, inhaling the scent of lilacs. “It’s beautiful here. And peaceful. It feels like home. For another…it’s where I met Baelfire, when he asked me to stay with you. And I’m so glad he did.” She smiled at him. 

“Belle—” Rumplestiltskin started to say.

“I was thinking,” She interrupted haltingly. “I was thinking—well, I was wondering…I was wondering if I could stay. With you. And Baelfire. Not as a temporary tenant, but as…but with you.” Her eyes remained fixed on the clump of lilacs. 

Rumplestiltskin inhaled sharply. Part of him wanted to shout with joy, kneel before her and beg her never to leave him. The other part of him was frozen in terror. He gripped his staff tightly and swallowed the hard lump in his throat. 

“Belle,” He said, his throat constricting. “Gods—gods, I want you to stay. So much.” She turned towards him, her face suddenly shining. “But—” He hurried on. “But—oh, Belle, what could I offer you?” His face crumpled.

Belle was in his arms in a moment, embracing him tightly. “If you love me,” She whispered fiercely. “If—if you love me—then offer me that. Because I meant what I said. I love you.”

“Yes. Oh yes. And I love you too,” His voice broke as held her tenderly. She tilted her face towards his and kissed him. The kiss was languid and patient, as if she had a thousand years to do so. Perhaps she did, because all that mattered was that she loved him, and he loved her back. He deepened the kiss and Belle clung to him, the taste of woodsmoke and honey filling her senses, making her dizzy. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” She said softly, breaking away from him a little breathlessly, gazing into his brown eyes. “If you had one wish—what would you wish for?”

“What?” He asked her dazedly, cupping her cheek. She smiled at the tender action.

“If you had one wish,” Belle repeated. “What would you wish for?” Her eyes filled with concern. “Would it be to heal your leg?”

Rumplestiltskin stared at her for a long moment before his face cracked into a smile. “No, love,” He answered, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I know how to live my life lame, I’m used to it…but…if you really want to stay…”

“I do,” Belle said eagerly. “I want to stay with you and Baelfire. Forever.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath at her words. “Then…I’d wish for some way to support you both. To take care of you. I can never give you the life you deserve, Belle.” Belle looked reproachful and opened her mouth to argue but he put his fingers to her lips, quieting her. 

“It’s true,” He admitted. “I am a spinner, and the best of my days, I can barely afford to feed my family. You’re a lady of noble birth, you’ve never known hunger or poverty…I couldn’t live with myself if you suffered our meager life. I—I’d wish that we would never have to worry about that again. I’d wish—I don’t know—I’d wish I could spin straw into gold!” It was the first thing that popped into his head and the idea was so ridiculous, he laughed aloud as he said it. 

But Belle’s eyes brightened with something akin to mischief and inspiration. She kissed him quickly, excitedly rocking on her toes. 

“Okay,” She whispered happily. Rumplestiltskin looked at her, confused. She pulled out of his arms, but did not drop his hand. 

“Nova!” Belle called out. “I’m ready. I’m ready for my wish!”

XXXXXX

Baelfire groaned when he heard footsteps. He yawned tiredly, rubbing his eyelids and forcing himself off the pallet. 

“Papa? Belle? Are you back yet?” He called, entering the main room. He stopped short. 

Gaston smiled darkly at him. “Hello, child. Did I hear you call out for a woman named Belle?” 

Baelfire took a step back. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” He said quickly. 

Gaston barked out a laugh. “Oh, I really think you do,” He returned. “And I’d suggest you start talking, quickly, boy.”

Baelfire glared at him fiercely, his mind swimming. “Get out,” He warned, picking up a poker from the fireplace defensively. “My father isn’t here, and you’re not welcome. Leave!”

Gaston advanced forward, the good humor disappearing from his face. “Put that down, boy. Someone could get hurt.”


	9. Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your sweet comments and support! Here's the final chapter of Brave.

Rumplestiltskin was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation. Belle could not have asked to stay with them forever; she could not possibly want to be with a poor, cowardly spinner for the rest of her days. 

But she felt so real in his arms, her lips seemed to be the truest joy he’d ever tasted, and now she was asking to know his dearest wish. He told her honestly, even turning it into a measly joke, but she listened to him solemnly, brightening excitedly. 

“Nova!” She called out. “I’m ready! I’m ready for my wish!”

For a moment, the glade was silent. Rumplestiltskin gazed at Belle uncomprehendingly before two spots of light appeared before them, one glimmering a merry pink, the other an ominous blue. He sucked in a frightened breath.

“Will of the wisps,” He gripped Belle tightly, but she didn’t look at all fearful. Indeed, she looked eager and radiant. Perhaps the Marchlands had different legends about these creatures; perhaps they did not know what crafty, devious creatures they were. 

The lights flickered for a moment before suddenly bursting into an explosion of color. When Rumplestiltskin’s vision focused, the wisps were now in human form, both wearing strange unearthly dresses of pink and blue. His eyes widened as he took in the figure in blue. 

“The Reul Ghorm,” He said in awe. The creature that ruled the night. Friend of children and barren mothers, with power greater than darkness or light…greater than anything. 

“Hi Belle!” The pink lady grinned with a little wave. Rumplestiltskin looked at Belle in astonishment—had she consorted with fairies before? 

“Nova,” Belle returned, squeezing Rumplestiltskin’s arm comfortingly. “And…” Her eyes fell on the blue figure. 

“The spinner had it right,” The Reul Ghorm smiled at Belle. “I am the Blue Fairy—Nova’s teacher. She asked me a little while ago if she could grant you a wish, Lady Belle. And I have accepted her boon. What is it you would like, child?”

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said weakly. “What—?”

“The day Baelfire retrieved wild honey from the wood,” Belle explained, her blue eyes shining. “I—I helped Nova. It was nothing, truly—but she wanted to reward me with a wish.” He continued to stare at her, bewildered. She kissed his cheek. 

“My wish is not for myself,” Belle declared. “I wish—for Rumplestiltskin to turn straw into gold!” 

There was a pause. Rumplestiltskin gaped at Belle, too flabbergasted to beg her to reconsider and too shocked at the fairy’s appearance to do anything else. Belle’s hand slipped neatly into his as she smiled warmly at the fairies. Nova seemed perfectly willing.   
She looked eagerly at the Blue Fairy for confirmation. 

The Blue Fairy, however, did not look pleased. 

“Lady Belle,” She said in a tone that was less than approving. “A wish is a great gift, especially a wish from my kind. You must choose your wish wisely.” 

Belle frowned. “This is a wise wish.”

“Is it?” The Blue Fairy questioned, her brow furrowing. She turned towards Rumplestiltskin, who tried not to quail in fear. He wanted to be brave for Belle, so he stared resolutely at the fairy. 

“Is this truly your true love, Lady Belle?” The Blue Fairy continued patronizingly. “Rather than the knight who fights for you, who searches far and wide, desperately seeking your return to your father’s castle, you choose to love a poverty-stricken spinner.”

Belle’s frown deepened into a scowl and her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth to retort hotly, but the Blue Fairy wasn’t finished. She turned to Rumplestiltskin. 

“I know of you, Rumplestiltskin,” The Blue Fairy informed him. “I know of your past. I know of your good-hearted son, who asked for my blessing last night. But I also know how fear has dictated your life. All your life, you ran from shadow to shadow. It has made your heart weak.” 

Rumplestiltskin hung his head. Belle looked shocked and angry. She bristled like a wild dog. 

“I thought I was gifted with a wish,” Belle snarled. “Not a condemnation.”

The Blue Fairy sniffed. “Wishes are powerful magic, Lady Belle,” She said loftily. “And you ask to gift Rumplestiltskin with magic. Magic always comes with a price, and enough of it will corrupt a weak and dark heart.” She looked steadily at Rumplestiltskin. “Rumplestiltskin is a coward. This is not a wise wish, Lady Belle. I sense a great capacity for evil within this man’s soul.” 

Belle looked ready to spit fire. Rumplestiltskin’s heart was heavy as he nudged her slightly. “It’s all right, love,” He said quietly. “Wish for something else, Belle.”

“I won’t!” Belle shouted at him. “And how dare you?!” She directed her question at the Blue Fairy, whose dark brows rose. Nova looked nervously between the two. 

“And what can you mean, Lady Belle?” The Blue Fairy asked patiently, as if dealing with a toddler.

“How dare you,” Belle hissed. “How dare you presume to judge the actions of mortals! You have no right to arbitrate how something will affect another. You are not a god.” 

The Blue Fairy opened her mouth in stunned indignation, possibly to smite Belle, but Belle was not finished.

“You are a fairy,” Belle said scornfully. “It is very easy to be brave and courageous when you have a wealth of magic at your fingertips. It is very easy to judge who is good and who is evil, sitting upon the clouds, only observing but never understanding a human’s life, only helping when it conveniences you. Have you ever wondered how you will feed your only child? Have you ever felt the pain of losing someone you love? You claim to be on the side of good, of righteousness, but where were you when the ogres attacked? Where were you when the village’s men were slaughtered like cattle, and so many women and children were left without husbands or fathers?” 

“And yet,” Belle continued sharply. “You feel content to call Rumplestiltskin cowardly for choosing to return to his family.”

The Blue Fairy’s eyes flashed. “You cannot presume to know the ways and workings of—”

“Save your excuses,” Belle interrupted coldly. “You’re not on the side of good, Reul Ghorm, you’re only on the side of good that benefits you. Fare you well.” She clasped Rumplestiltskin’s hand and turned to leave the glen, ready to keep her dignity and pride. 

But the Reul Ghorm stopped them. “Very well,” She said in a dangerously calm voice. “Have it your way, Lady Belle. Nova will grant this wish—Rumplestiltskin will be given the gift of spinning straw into gold. And then we will see what becomes of your lives. We will see if he is truly the man you think he is.” There was a flash of silvery blue light, and the Reul Ghorm was gone. 

Nova cleared her throat nervously. “Oh, she’s angry,” Nova gulped. 

“I don’t care,” Belle pronounced. “I am not her peasant.”

Nova and Rumplestiltskin glanced at each other, and for a moment, he felt a brief sort of kinship with the pink fairy. Belle was brave and clever and beautiful, but she’d clearly had little experience with fairies. She had no idea how difficult a fairy could make her life. 

Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh no, I want to!” Nova said eagerly. “Just—just be careful with this gift. The Reul Ghorm’s warning, however…” She faltered slightly under Belle’s sharp glare. “…biased, still rings true.”

He nodded. “I promise.” And he meant it. He would cherish this gift. He would do nothing to endanger the lives of Belle or his son. He would not let this magic consume him. 

“Good!” Nova clapped her hands together. “Stretch out your palms, Rumplestiltskin.”

Warily, he obeyed. She furrowed her brow in concentration. Her fingers began to glow with a pink and gold light and with the barest touch; she stroked each and every one of Rumplestiltskin’s fingers. As she touched, a spark of gold crackled.

“It is done,” Nova said, a little tiredly, he thought. “I wish you both every happiness!”

Belle dared to approach Nova and embrace her. “Go find your dream, Nova,” Her blue eyes twinkled. “You’re going to make an excellent fairy godmother.” 

Nova blushed with pleasure. There was a flash of pink, sparkling light, and the fairy disappeared. 

There was a peaceful quiet, broken only by the sounds of birds and the natural rustlings in the wood. Rumplestiltskin turned to Belle.

“Why—why did you do that?” He asked urgently. “Why did you give me your wish?”

Belle blinked in slight bemusement and her eyes crinkled into a smile. “Because I love you.” She brushed her lips against his tenderly.

“That’s—that’s not a reason,” Rumplestiltskin protested. “You could’ve had anything you wanted.” Belle laughed.

“Yes, it is,” Her eyes sparkled. “When Nova offered me that wish, there was only one thing I truly desired. Something no fairy could possibly give me. I got it on my own.” Almost warily, Rumplestiltskin’s arms curled around Belle, and she leaned into the embrace happily.

“In any case,” She continued, inhaling his scent. “I gave you the wish because that’s what love is. Love gives and that’s all there is to it.”

****

The villagers were still asleep, so their walk home was still strangely quiet. The pair contentedly strolled back to the house, hand in hand. Despite the warmth, Belle felt a little uneasy. She couldn’t pinpoint why—after all, hadn’t her dreams come true? She’d found true love. She’d found a home. She would stay with Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire, forever. She’d been able to give her love opulent wealth through Nova’s gift. 

So what was wrong?

Trying to bury her disquiet feelings, she squeezed Rumplestiltskin’s hand. He glanced at her, perhaps sensing her discomfort, and gave her a shy smile. Her heart lifted a little as they entered the house. 

“Baelfire! We’re back!” Belle sang merrily. “I’ll make us lunch. We’ve something to—” She stopped dead. Rumplestiltskin froze.

Gaston was standing in the middle of the room, sword to Baelfire’s throat. 

The air in the room seemed to both freeze and thicken. Time stopped. Rumplestiltskin began to shake, terror etched on his face. 

“Hello, my lady,” Gaston said pleasantly. “I must say, I’m glad you’re finally here. The boy was getting tiresome.” 

“How did you find me?” Belle whispered. Gaston chuckled.

“After all your discretion and clever evasions,” He commented. “Rugen saw you—well, saw your cloak yesterday, losing you in the crowd. He sent word to me immediately. To be honest, I was sure it was a false lead—a clever trick, selling your cloak to a peasant to throw us off. I knew that after all this time, you couldn’t possibly have made such a careless mistake. I actually ordered Rugen back to the Marchlands, convinced that the fool was out of his mind.” 

Belle’s mouth was dry. 

“But of course, I was wrong,” Gaston said airily. “Some nervous farmer nearby confessed to seeing you coming and going from this house. And he was right. Clever hiding place, concealing yourself in squalor.” He sneered at the shabby little room.  
Baelfire struggled against Gaston, and his sword-arm tightened against Baelfire’s neck.

“Let—let him go,” Belle said, her voice shaking. She took in the purplish-red bruises decorating Baelfire’s face. The boy held his arm awkwardly, as if broken. Her heart was in her throat.

“Certainly,” Gaston said agreeably. “He has been a thorn in my side. Had he come from better family, I might call his foolhardiness courage. As it stands, though, he only makes a particularly irritating gutter rat.” 

“Gaston,” Belle appealed. “Please. He’s nothing to do with—just let him go…” 

Gaston smiled. “You’ll come with me without a fight? Back to the Marchlands?” The lump in Belle’s throat grew larger as she tried to think clearly. 

Rumplestiltskin, however, was jerked out of his paralysis. He spoke to Gaston desperately.

“Please,” He begged. “Let my son go. Let Belle go free. She—she doesn’t want to go with you. Don’t force her to—” His plea was interrupted by scornful laughter. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Gaston guffawed. “Count yourself lucky, Belle, I do believe this spinner is in love with you! How droll. How amusing. The old man has deluded himself.” 

He continued to laugh and jeer. “Did you honestly think that she could love you, when she could have someone like me? Look at you, shaking in your boots, begging for your whelp’s pathetic life. Didn’t you know that women don’t like to be married to cowards?” His sword dropped from Baelfire’s neck slightly. Bravely, Baelfire took this opportunity to elbow Gaston in the abdomen in an attempt to escape his grasp. 

“Little bastard!” Gaston spat, doubling over, but recovering quickly.

It all happened very fast. Gaston angrily jerked him by the scruff of his neck, flinging him towards the table. Baelfire slammed against the table corner, neatly slicing open his forehead. He cried out in pain, hands flying to the wound. Belle ran to him, but before she could reach him, Gaston snatched her arm and struck her across the face. She staggered, knees crumpling under her.

And then Rumplestiltskin went mad. 

****

Perhaps it was the horrifying parallel to the memory of his father savagely beating his mother in the same manner. Perhaps it was the realization that Rumplestiltskin could lose the only ones that truly mattered to him. But a long dormant side of him, awoken by the need to protect his loved ones, suddenly possessed him.

“No!”

Rumplestiltskin charged wildly, pure adrenaline and testosterone fueling his actions. Had Gaston expected this assault, Rumplestiltskin would’ve been cut to pieces. But Gaston’s pride and scorn were his undoing, and he was taken by surprise and slammed against the wall. His sword clattered to the floor. Realizing quickly that Gaston had the advantage of height and strength, Rumplestiltskin hurled his staff forward, striking Gaston across the head, concussing him. Gaston faltered, attempting to fight back. At this Rumplestiltskin shoved him forward, till Gaston’s back was to the spinning wheel. 

Gaston’s eyes bulged. Rumplestiltskin felt a surge of power at the knight’s sudden fear.

“Do you feel that?” He hissed. “The spindle in your back?” 

Gaston choked, his concussion fuzzing his mind. He felt a sharp, throbbing pain digging into his back, almost like being pierced by a spear. 

“Spindles are dangerously sharp,” Rumplestiltskin whispered. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stabbed hands, how many times I’ve warned Bae to be careful while running around the house…so very easy to impale yourself.” 

The spindle dug deeper into Gaston’s back. The spinning wheel creaked under Gaston’s weight, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t care, eyes mad with fury. 

“Right where you’re at,” Rumplestiltskin said softly. “The spindle will go through your heart.”

“Don’t!” Gaston pleaded. “Don’t!”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t answer, merely pushed him, deliberately and easily, further into the spindle. 

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle cried out. “Please…please stop…” 

At Belle’s voice, Rumplestiltskin paused. Slowly but surely, sanity returned to his eyes. He heaved Gaston off of the spindle and flung him to the floor. The spindle cracked from the spinning wheel in the process, falling to the floor. 

Baelfire had retrieved Gaston’s sword. The broadsword was much too big for him, but this minor fact did not sway Baelfire, who held it up with both hands, pointing it towards Gaston.

“Get out,” Rumplestiltskin growled. 

Gaston didn’t need to be told twice. Staggering, he stumbled out the door. 

At his departure, Rumplestiltskin felt the adrenaline fade from his body. He felt as though his legs were made of jelly. He breathed heavily, mind swimming, trying to come to grips with what just happened. 

“Papa?” Baelfire asked. His dark eyes were filled with awe and wonder.

Rumplestiltskin went to him, examining the cut on his forehead. It wasn’t very deep; a bit of mugwort salve would cure it in a few days.

“I’m okay, Papa,” Baelfire assured him, picking up a cloth and putting it to his head. “Papa—you were so brave.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “I was terrified,” He said quietly, this time walking towards Belle, who was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. 

“Are you all right?” He asked softly, reaching his hand out to help her up. 

Belle continued to gaze at him. Slowly, she took his hand and he helped her stand. He frowned at the red swelling on her cheek, tracing it gently, as if his fingers could heal it. He was about to say that they should get a wet cloth for it, when Belle interrupted him, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him with every ounce of passion she possessed. 

Baelfire rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s about time.” 

They broke apart gasping, with Belle starting to laugh joyfully. Rumplestiltskin swallowed. Do the brave thing, He thought to himself, And bravery will follow. Perhaps Belle had been right all along. 

“Belle,” He asked tentatively. “Marry me?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Of course!” He beamed at her, and then they were kissing again, as if they couldn’t stop.

Baelfire sighed. “There’s going to be a lot of this, isn’t there?” 

“Probably,” Rumplestiltskin managed to answer, holding Belle tightly. Belle giggled unashamedly.

An idea struck him. He let go of Belle for a brief moment, heading towards the spinning wheel, brows slightly furrowed. He picked up a few pieces of straw from the ground, sitting at the stool.

“What are you doing?” Baelfire asked bewildered.

“But the spindle’s broken,” Belle pointed out, already guessing what he was up to.

“I don’t need it right this moment,” Rumplestiltskin assured her. “I’m just spinning…something small…” His eyes began to glaze and his finger began to fly, the wheel creaking and clacking. In a few moments, a small thread of gold lay in Rumplestiltskin’s hands. 

Baelfire gaped at his father. “How did you—?” He began to sputter. 

Rumplestiltskin paid him no heed, calmly braiding the thread of gold to a proper thickness. A warm smile came over Belle when she realized what he was doing. She went to him, her left hand reaching forward, and Rumplestiltskin easily slipped a ring of braided gold onto her finger.


End file.
